


The Time in Between

by MysticKitten42



Series: Old Magic [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU pre-HBP, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blow Jobs, Boys Kissing, Dark Magic, Drinking, First Time, Fluff, Good Narcissa Black Malfoy, Hand Jobs, Healing, Hot Springs, House-elf magic, Insecurities, Lakes, Loss of Virginity, Lucius Malfoy's A+ Parenting, M/M, Magical Theory (Harry Potter), Malfoy Manor, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Miscommunication, POV Multiple, Running Away, The Dark Arts, glamping, magical jewelry, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:08:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 42,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27672488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysticKitten42/pseuds/MysticKitten42
Summary: Harry never wanted to be the Chosen One. Draco refused the Dark Mark. Together, they set out to create something new. But can they outrun their destiny?~ or ~The one where Harry sets everything on fire, Draco confronts the darkness within, and Narcissa will do anything to keep them safe.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Minor Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy - Relationship
Series: Old Magic [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1831858
Comments: 102
Kudos: 350
Collections: DrarryLove, Finished faves





	1. Scourgify

**Author's Note:**

> _The Time in Between_ picks up exactly where _Potter’s Ravine_ left off, in the flashback scene at Malfoy Manor while Draco is packing.
> 
> I do highly recommend you read _Potter’s Ravine_ first as this fic will reference events that happened during that story. But, for those who plan to forge ahead anyway, the most important thing to note is that the boys are wearing a Furtivus Cuff, a piece of magical jewellery that negates the Trace placed on underage witches and wizards and allows them to use magic undetected. 
> 
> I hope you all have as much fun reading this as I had writing it 😍
> 
> Special thanks to M for having the first read. ❤️

(earlier)

“I have something else for you as well.” Narcissa reached into her pocket and pulled out a Furtivus Cuff, just like the one his father had given him. “This is for your _companion._ ” She placed it in his hand. “If it’s who I think it is, he’s going to need it.”

Draco froze, his eyes were fixed on Narcissa. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Don’t look so surprised, darling,” she said. There was a twinkle in her eye.

“A mother always knows.”

“B-but…I…,” he stuttered, inwardly cursing his own ineloquence. He sounded like Potter. Was stammering contagious? Merlin help him if it was.

His mother perched at the edge of his bed and smiled, kindly. “You may be a very skilled Occlumens, Draco — I take great pride in that — but you never could hide anything from me. I know you too well.”

Draco exhaled, slowly, and gave her a small nod. “So, what now?”

“You’ll do what you set out to do.” She carefully folded her hands in her lap and looked at Draco sternly. “But you mustn’t, under any circumstances, use any of the Malfoy properties. It doesn’t matter how obscure the location or their state of disuse, your father will come looking for you. Don’t delude yourself that he will let this go. You and I both know how things are now; things have changed. You can feel it, can’t you?”

Draco could. It was hard to describe, but there was a thickness to the air. It started the day the Dark Lord entered the Manor and had grown stronger and denser as time passed. He worried he might suffocate if he stayed any longer. But he also worried about leaving his mother. When he voiced his concern, she waved him off and insisted she could take care of herself.

“Right. We’ll go to places we’ve never been to before. No Malfoy properties.” He licked his lips. They were chapped and he felt parched. A glass of water instantly appeared on the nightstand and he reached for it. Bilby was so good at anticipating his needs; he’d miss her most of all, aside from his mother, of course. He drank deeply.

Draco felt his mother’s eyes on him. “Now, there’s the matter of Bilby,” she said.

“Oh?”

“It was meant to be a surprise.” She appeared both fond and amused. “Your father agreed. For your NEWT years, we wanted to make sure you were properly looked after. We knew you would be busy with your studies and could use a little extra tending to. We planned to tell you on the eve before school commenced. We arranged for Bilby to go to Hogwarts with you. She’s yours.”

“She’s mine?” Draco couldn’t hide the surprise in his voice. Layers of emotion threatened to break through years of Malfoy poise. This was unexpected.

“We performed the ritual at Beltane using hair from your spare brush. Bilby belongs to you and only you. You are her true Master.”

A tear threatened to escape one eye. If his mother noticed she didn’t let on, and for this he was grateful. Malfoys were excellent at ignoring the uncomfortable and the inconvenient.

“The thing is, Draco, she’s yours and she must go with you. Circe knows what the Dark Lord, my sister, or your father for that matter, will do to her if they get their hands on her after you leave. But timing is critical. Your father knows that she answers to you. He’s been requesting her services more frequently as of late even though he has avoided you since that most” — she paused for a moment and smoothed out a crease in her dress — “ _unpleasant encounter._ ”

_Unpleasant_ wasn’t the word he would have chosen. Any feelings he’d had for his father had become hardened and cold. There was nothing soft or warm left for the man now that he’d hurt and betrayed Draco in the worst way possible. To think, for so many years he’d wanted to be just like Lucius.

Narcissa held his gaze and her expression implied urgency. She was a force to be reckoned with. “Your father knows that as long as Bilby is here, so are you. Therefore, you must take your leave now, get as far away as possible, and bide your time. Right before the ceremony is to begin, you must call Bilby to you. I’ll do my best to ensure she’s alone when you call her. It won’t do if any Death Eaters latch on when she Disapparates.”

Draco nodded. “I understand. Timing is important.”

Narcissa narrowed her eyes. “It’s critical. Set a Tempus Charm.”

“I will.”

“There’s something else.” Draco could see a hint of fear flash across her elegant features before she schooled it away. It was most unsettling. “I’ve heard talk, whispers in dark corners, that the Dark Lord plans to set a taboo on his name. The only people who dare to use it are those who vehemently oppose his regime. He will use it to track them. Make sure your” — a brief pause while she pondered her words — “make sure Harry knows that. If you must, refer to him as the _Dark Lord_ or _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_. But it’s better if you don’t speak of him at all. Move forward. Get far away from all of this.”

“I will, Mother.”

“Be sure to cover your tracks. Leave not a trace.”

Draco nodded and they both stood. He reached out and pulled her tightly against him, trying to memorise what it felt like to hug and be hugged by his mother. He worried it might be the last time.

“Be safe. Stay strong. I love you, my Dragon.”

“I love you too, Mother.”

She pulled back and looked him in the eye. “One more thing. Don’t try to contact me. It’s too dangerous. I will try to find a way to reach you.”

***

(present)

Draco held Harry’s hand as they entered Number 4, Privet Drive, and he passed through the wards with ease, a slight popping sensation in his ears the only noticeable side-effect. The house was quiet. Still. But then again, the hour was late.

They stood in the foyer, near the staircase. There was a hallway, beyond which he could see the kitchen and a door to the left that led into the living room.

“Where’s your wand?”

“It’s locked in there with my trunk,” Harry said, and gestured, with hesitation, to the cupboard under the stairs. Harry seemed nervous, tense even, but Draco attributed that to their mission. They needed to get in and get out quickly.

“I’ll unlock it and shrink your trunk. You should go and get anything you need from your room. Quietly.”

Harry appeared contemplative but nodded and headed upstairs.

“Oh, and Potter,” Draco said, and Harry paused on the stairs. “Don’t bother to pack any of your clothes. I’ll just have to burn them later anyway.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “What do you expect me to wear, then?”

“You’ll see. Trust me.” Draco smirked. Once Harry had ascended the stairs, Draco cast _Alohomora_. The door clicked and sprang open easily. He cast _Lumos_ and peered inside. At the very front was Harry’s trunk. Draco opened it and retrieved Harry’s wand – it tingled in his hand, a fiery thing, as his magic mingled with Harry’s residual magic. Draco let out a contented sigh and slipped it into the inner pocket of his robes. He smiled when he saw the _Potter Stinks_ badge nestled between a pair of socks. So, he’d kept it then?

Draco quietly closed the lid, shrank the trunk, and placed it inside his bag. He examined the rest of the cupboard with a frown. There was a tiny cot with a ratty, moth-eaten blanket pushed into the furthest corner. Beside it was a small shelf that held three paint-chipped tiny toy soldiers — one missing a leg and another an arm — and a small car that sagged sadly on account of two missing wheels. The way everything was arranged suggested this was more than just a place for storage. He’d be sure to ask Harry about it later, but he suspected he already knew the answer, and it filled him with white-hot rage. Draco took a deep breath and unclenched his hands. They were on a mission; it would not do to lose his cool now. When he looked down, he saw his nails had left small bloody crescents on his palms.

***

Harry crept along the upstairs hallway and paused for a moment to listen. He heard a faint click from the downstairs hallway, and then the familiar chorus of Petunia’s dainty snores intermixed with the rattling noises Vernon and Dudley made while they slept. Vernon sucked in a breath, and when he choked and coughed, Harry froze, afraid his escape was about to be thwarted. Vernon settled and resumed his sawing rhythm, Harry relaxed and turned into his room. He whispered a greeting to Hedwig; she had clearly been awaiting his return before she ventured out for her nightly escapades. “I won’t be a moment,” he cooed.

He sat down, pulled back the rug and pried open the loose floorboard to reveal his secret stash of special things: the photo album of his parents that Hagrid had given him at the end of first year; a stack of letters from Hermione, Ron and Sirius accumulated over the years; his invisibility cloak. There wasn’t much in his room that he wanted to take, just the few items from his hideaway, and Hedwig’s cage. Draco had told him to leave his clothes and he wasn’t sure what to think. He shrugged. He held no attachment to his shabby wardrobe, and he was sure Draco must have a reason. He always did. Nonetheless, he packed an extra hoodie and a pair of jeans.

Harry rifled through his desk until he found a scrap piece of paper and a biro. Ron was still away in Australia with Hermione and her family, but he knew he could count on the twins for their support and discretion.

_Dear Fred and George,_

_I’m going away for a little while. I’m not sure where or for how long, but I just can’t stay here any longer. I don’t want to be tracked, so please take care of Hedwig for me. I’d appreciate it if you kept this between us for as long as possible. I’ll come for her when I can and give you a full explanation. Please don’t worry (and when everyone else inevitably finds out, please tell them not to worry)._

_Yours, in gratitude,_

_Harry_

He rolled up the paper as though it was parchment and affixed it to Hedwig’s outstretched leg. He stroked her beak and fed her an owl treat.

“Be a good girl,” he said softly. I can’t take you with me, you’re too noticeable. Fred and George will take good care of you and I’ll come to get you as soon as I can.” He stroked her beak and scratched the back of her neck. She leaned into his touch. “Can you wait a little bit before you deliver that? Take the long way around?” Hedwig blinked once in understanding. Harry fed her another treat and gave her a final pat. “I’m going to miss you so much. Take care of yourself, pretty girl.” She nipped him on the ear, perhaps a little harder than was necessary, and flew out the window. With a tight chest, he watched her silhouette grow smaller against the full moon.

Harry grabbed her cage and the small bag containing his few meagre belongings. He cursed after he accidentally knocked the cage into the door frame. Maybe it wasn’t as loud as he thought it was? He could hear Petunia and Dudley’s snores from their respective rooms. But what about Vernon? The door opened wide in answer and Harry stared into his uncle’s dark eyes. For a moment Harry stood still, frozen to the spot. He leapt into action the moment Vernon lunged, but he didn’t get far. He looked back and saw his uncle had grabbed a fistful of his hoodie. A vein bulged near Vernon’s temple as his face grew red, contorted in rage. With a loud _rip_ , Harry yanked himself free. He flew down the stairs and Vernon stumbled down after, not far behind.

“Draco!”

Draco joined Harry in the doorway and together, bags slung over shoulders, birdcage in hand, they ran out into the night. They linked hands. Harry could feel a storm brewing in the distance. Vernon wasn’t far behind; his laboured breaths came thick and heavy.

“You come back here, Boy!” he bellowed.

Draco squeezed Harry’s hand. “Harry, quickly, think of a place. I’ll take care of the other two D’s.”

Harry thought of the first place that came to mind, and suddenly his insides lurched as though they were being forced together. With a rush of wind in his ears, everything went black.

They landed with a jolt. It was Harry’s first experience with Apparition, and he wasn’t convinced he liked it. He took a deep breath and willed the contents of his stomach to settle. When he’d recovered sufficiently, he blinked and looked around the room with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

Harry closed his eyes and inhaled deeply: seaweed and mildew overpowered everything else. Five years. It had been five years, and nothing had changed. Was it possible that no one had been here in all that time? 

Draco took out his wand and cast _Lumos_ as he surveyed the room with an intense frown. “Merlin and Morgana,” he said. “It didn’t work. I’m not sure what went wrong, but something obviously did. Take my hand. We’ll try again.” The light from Draco’s wand bounced off the furniture, the walls, creating obscure shadows.

“No, it did work. I can’t believe it.” Harry felt giddy with excitement, like a child on Christmas morning. A heavy gust of wind rattled the door and each individual pane of glass threatened to shake loose. The moisture in the air clung to him like a film as he looked around the room. He eyed the fireplace, covered in cobwebs; the moth-eaten couch, still an alarming shade of sunflower yellow; and through the dirty window out to the ocean. Harry smiled.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. “You meant to bring us here?”

Harry nodded.

“On purpose?”

Another nod.

Draco sighed as though trying, by the extreme power of will, to contain his frustration. He flicked his wand and the wall sconces burst alight.

“Harry. Why, pray tell, have you brought us to this windy shithole?”

Harry pursed his lips. “Well, when we were running from Vernon, this was the first place that popped into mind. This is where it all began, really.” It had been the start of Harry’s life as he knew it now. It seemed fitting to be here again when they were about to start a brand-new chapter.

“Where what all began?” There was a note of alarm in Draco’s voice.

“This is where I found out I was a wizard. That all the things I could do didn’t happen because I was a freak or a bad person. This is where I got my Hogwarts letter.”

“You mean to tell me, growing up you didn’t know you were a wizard? Surely your aunt and uncle knew?”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

Draco scowled. “They knew. Of course they did.”

“Yes, they did. They just didn’t bother to tell me. They hoped to beat it out of me. Didn’t want any magic – _funny business_ , they called it – in their house.”

“That’s reprehensible.” They continued to stare at one another, as though unsure of how to continue. Draco swallowed; his eyes softened. “So how does this place fit into the story?”

“Let’s sit down, shall we?” Harry made a move towards the dusty couch.

“Are you insane?” Draco exclaimed. With a flick of his wand, he sent the couch flying back towards the wall. He pulled out a block of wood from his bag and transfigured it into a plush couch, green and pretentious, that looked very out of place in the shabby hut. When they both sat down, Harry had to admit it was wonderfully comfortable. Draco looked at him expectantly.

“My first Hogwarts letter arrived addressed to me in the cup–” Harry stopped himself just in time. He wasn’t sure how confessional he wanted this evening to be. He didn’t want Draco’s pity. But Draco, apparently, had already discovered his secret.

“The cupboard under the stairs. They made you sleep there.” It wasn’t a question.

Harry felt exposed, raw. He stared at his feet and bit his lip. “Yes,” he said quietly. He found it difficult to meet Draco’s eyes, afraid of what they would show. Instead, he looked at the ocean spray that dotted the dirty windowpanes, and at the corner of the room where he was left to sleep. He remembered the way the cold, hard floor made his back ache and how the mouldy, threadbare blanket barely kept out the cold.

“What else? There’s more, I know there is. You can tell me.” Draco gently cupped Harry’s chin and guided his face so he had no choice but to look into Draco’s eyes. Relief surged through Harry when he didn’t find an ounce of pity. Worry. Confusion, perhaps, but not pity. Emboldened, Harry continued.

“They used to lock me inside, sometimes for days at a time, after I lost control and caused something to happen with magic.”

Draco’s hand found Harry’s and he threaded their fingers together.

“It started when I was little. One time, Dudley kept making fun of me. He wouldn’t stop, so I made his lips stick together as though he’d eaten too many toffees. He couldn’t open his mouth for hours. They locked me up without dinner for that one. Of course, that was nothing compared to the time I accidentally set a boa constrictor loose on him at the zoo.”

“And yet you didn’t know you were a Parselmouth?” Draco eyed him with interest.

Harry shrugged. “I didn’t.”

“Don’t the Muggles have Aurors?”

“They’re called Police. Once, a concerned teacher saw bruises. The Police came and spoke with the Dursleys. The trouble is they are excellent at explaining the situation in their favour. Also, they never hit me. That was always Dudley. Because everything was explained away as sibling rivalry, it was neatly swept under the rug with a promise of stricter parenting. Dudley got a new video game, and I got locked in the cupboard for a week.”

Draco sighed and kissed Harry gently, wrapped him in his arms, safe and warm. When he pulled back, he traced the lightning bolt scar.

“What did they tell you about this? It’s a curse scar. How did they explain that away?”

“They told me my parents died in a car crash. That I was with them and I got it during the accident. But I always dreamed of flashing green light and screaming. I just thought it was part of the accident.”

Draco exhaled. “So, this place?”

“Yes, Vernon refused to let me have my letter. Tore it up. They moved me into Dudley’s second bedroom –”

“You mean to tell me they had a spare room all this time?”

“Two, actually. They moved me into my own room the next day, and each day more letters came. Again, Vernon wouldn’t let me have them. He boarded up the mail slot and all the windows, but they came through the fireplace.” Draco snorted. “There must have been dozens of them. He became more unhinged with each additional letter. Finally, he snapped and brought us all out here. He reasoned that no post could reach us in this remote place.”

“How did you even get here without Apparition?”

“Rowboat.” Harry chuckled at Draco’s appalled expression; his cheeks tinged slightly green. As though Apparition was any better or any less sickening than a rowboat. Harry still felt queasy. “It was exactly five years ago to the date. The eve before my birthday. That night, no owls came. Instead, there was a loud knock at the door.”

_BANG!_

The door burst open and smacked against the wall sending bits of plaster to the ground. The boys jumped and clutched at each other, and the wind rushed through the room blowing out the wall sconces. Looking visibly flustered, Draco cast _Colloportus._ The door swung shut and locked securely. With another flick of his wand, the sconces were re-lit.

Draco schooled his features and rolled his eyes. “It’s just the wind.” Harry took a moment to calm his racing heart.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “You’re not scared, are you Potter?”

“No more than you,” Harry replied, and grinned at the petulant look Draco flashed at him.

Draco busied himself with casting _Scourgify_ and _Incendio_ at the fireplace. The fire immediately roared to life and Harry relished the warmth radiating from the flames.

After a moment, Draco pressed his thigh against Harry’s. “Who was at the door?”

Harry smiled, fondly, as he relived the moment. “Hagrid. Vernon wouldn’t let him in, so he broke down the door. He brought me a birthday cake — my first ever birthday cake — and my Hogwarts letter. He was the one who told me what I am and what had happened to my parents. He also put the fear of God into Vernon, not that it had any lasting effect.”

“What flavour was the cake?” Harry looked at Draco in disbelief, that this was the detail he chose to fixate on, and Draco smiled back. “What? These things are important.”

Harry snorted. “I actually don’t know. Dudley ate it.”

“Of course he did.”

“Hagrid gave him a pigtail for it.”

Draco’s eyebrows shot up. “He did not.”

“I’m serious. He had to have it surgically removed.”

Draco had a gleam in his eye. “I suddenly have a newfound respect for Hagrid.”

“So, I got my letter and the next day Hagrid took me to Diagon Alley for the first time. We bought all my school things, he bought Hedwig for my birthday, and I met you.”

Draco deflated. “And I tried to impress you by insulting the man who rescued you and had shown you kindness.”

“It wasn’t the best first impression.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Harry sighed. “Look, I know this isn’t your ideal accommodation, but can we just spend one night?” Harry couldn’t help feeling a tad nostalgic. “Also, Vol – ”

“Shhh.” Draco put his finger to Harry’s lips.

“You-Know-Who will never look for us here.”

Draco looked around the room and Harry could imagine every complaint on his lips. But, to his credit, instead of complaining he said, “You have me there. All right. If we must. But I intend to cast at least a dozen extra strength Cleaning Spells first. I won’t have us eaten by bed bugs our first night together.”

Relieved, Harry exhaled.

Draco slipped his hand into the pocket of his robes. “I almost forgot. Here.” He passed Harry his wand. To Harry’s dismay, with all the excitement of their flight, he found he had forgotten as well. It had been a whole month since he’d held his wand and he couldn’t wait. Excitement threatened to overwhelm. With the cuff, he could use magic.

Harry took his wand and felt the familiar tingle as the phoenix feather core melded with his magic. He wasn’t sure what to cast first. After a moment, he held the wand out and cast _Lumos_. Nothing happened.

Harry stood and tried again, concentrating harder, but was rewarded with nothing but a spark. It was underwhelming. A huge letdown. What was the problem?

“You probably just need to get used to using magic with the cuff. I wouldn’t worry too much.” Although Draco tried to sound casual, Harry detected a hint of worry in his tone. He found it unsettling.

Back in the ravine, he’d held Draco’s wand — hawthorn, with a friendly tingle — and had tried to cast. When nothing had happened, Draco insisted it was because of the unfamiliar wand, and Harry believed him. He hadn’t been too bothered at the time. They relaxed into quiet conversation and shared a meal before they ventured over to Privet Drive. But this was different. This was Harry’s own wand — the wand that had chosen him. The results did indeed make him worry. He sat back down, with more force than was necessary, and flinched. His bruised right side still ached terribly.

“You’ve been favouring your right side. Is there something you want to tell me?”

Harry turned towards Draco. “I was going to show you. Eventually. Perhaps there’s something you can do for it?” He swallowed and lifted his shirt. He heard Draco’s loud exhale before he had finished pulling it overhead. Harry knew what he looked like; the bruise was still inky-purple and covered a large part of his right side.

Murderous. It was the only way Harry could describe Draco’s expression. He looked paler than usual — Harry was surprised that was even possible — and his lips were pressed together into a thin line.

“We’re going back,” Draco stated firmly.

“What? Why?” Harry exclaimed.

“Because I’m going to hex them. Within an inch of their miserable lives.”

Harry put his hand on Draco’s arm and their eyes met. “No. This is exactly why I waited to show you. It won’t do if we get caught now just because you want vengeance.”

“Justice,” Draco clarified. “There’s nothing right about this.” Draco’s fingers ghosted over Harry’s side and he broke out in gooseflesh.

“It’s not, but I don’t want to go back. They don’t matter anymore. Let’s just forget them and keep going. It’s you and me, together, and that’s what matters.” Harry touched Draco’s arm and stared into his intense, silver eyes. “Promise me. Promise you won’t go back.”

After a moment, Draco nodded reluctantly. He took out his wand and busied himself with healing the dark bruise. After his spellwork, Harry’s skin tingled from Draco’s magic. His ribs looked good as new, but there was still a small amount of residual achiness. Time and rest were needed.

Draco leaned in and kissed Harry, deeply, tenderly. When he pulled back there was a question in his eyes.

“Perhaps you can return the favour?” He passed over a jar and Harry had no idea what he was meant to do with it. Draco shrugged off his cloak, unbuttoned his shirt and let it slide off his shoulders. Harry held his breath while his eyes glided over every inch of pale, flawless, creamy skin. Draco turned around and Harry let out an involuntary gasp. Draco’s back was covered with — he counted them — ten angry, red lashes. His stomach churned; his hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles turned white. A log in the fireplace snapped loudly, an outburst of Harry’s magic. He hated that Draco’s beautiful skin had been marked in such a grotesque manner. The wounds had been healed with magic, but the lines were still red and angry. Harry had just asked Draco to remain calm, so he took three deep breaths, long and slow.

When he trusted himself enough to speak, he continued. “I understand your earlier sentiment. Right now, there’s nothing I’d like more than to Apparate to Malfoy Manor and have it out with your father.”

Draco looked over his shoulder and gave Harry a wry smile. “That’s inadvisable, given the company he keeps.”

Harry wanted to lash out and destroy Lucius Malfoy. But Draco was correct. Harry sighed. Instead, he unscrewed the jar, dipped his fingers in, and busied himself massaging the greasy mixture into Draco’s back. The smell was intense, citrusy and musky, and Harry was sure he had smelled it before.

“It’s a Dittany salve,” Draco said, as though he anticipated the question.

“Why did he do this to you?”

“Punishment. It’s an incredible honour, you see, to be chosen for the Dark Mark. When I refused, he lashed me with his cane — enchanted with Merlin-knows-what, it’s another Malfoy family heirloom — for my insolence, and informed me I would indeed accept the honour. Mother closed the wounds, but they haven’t gone away. She suspects in time they will probably fade, but they will always be there. A constant reminder.” He shrugged. “Well, at least I can’t see them, right?”

It didn’t feel fair. But Harry knew better than anyone else that life wasn’t fair. Sometimes, no matter what choice was made, there were consequences. One way or another, Draco was marked for life. Harry massaged the salve into the last gash and closed the jar. Draco turned around and Harry could feel his breath on his lips before they shared another kiss, slow and languid.

When they broke apart, Draco said, “I’m exhausted. Let’s see what we can do to make the bedroom habitable. Based on this room, I can only assume it’s a gargantuan disaster.”

Harry smiled fondly and followed Draco into a room he had never been in before. Vernon and Petunia had claimed the space for themselves and Harry never got a chance to explore.

_Bed Room_ was an accurate descriptor for the tiny room as most of the available space was taken up by the bed. There was a narrow strip of floor on one side, the wall opposite the foot of the bed contained a narrow wardrobe and a door which Harry assumed led to the bathroom.

Draco wrinkled his nose. “I wonder how many Cleaning Spells we’ll need to fix this utter travesty.”

“Let me try,” Harry said. He hoped with everything he had that his earlier attempts were just a fluke. He licked his lips and raised his wand. Everything felt familiar. Good. Proper.

He cast. “ _Scourgify_.”

There was a faint ripple, the dust rose a centimetre off the bed, and then everything went back to the way it was. Harry frowned, then tried again with similar results.

He looked at Draco. A swell of panic threatened to break loose and Harry tried desperately to keep it at bay. Draco shrugged noncommittally. Harry bit his lower lip. He concentrated, harder than he ever had, and with the same intensity as when he cast his first corporeal Patronus.

“ _Scourgify!_ ”

The bed erupted into flames, bright and intense, that danced along the surface and rippled like liquid. Draco leapt into action. He pushed Harry back out of harm’s way and cast _Aguamenti_. With the flames extinguished, he casually cast _Tergeo_ followed by _Reparo_.

Draco turned to face Harry. With a smirk, he drawled, “Cleansed by fire. I like it.”

Harry knew Draco was trying to be kind and put him at ease, but it didn’t work. He felt unsettled. Shaky and strangely bereft. Out of control, in a way he never had before. It was one thing to not be allowed to use magic. It was completely different to not be able to. He didn’t like it.

Draco ran a finger over the surface of the bed, and it came away clean. He pulled back the covers, the bed linens looked crisp. As they should, having been thoroughly cleaned and repaired. They both shed their trousers until they were in just their pants.

Harry stood and stared. Draco was a vision, reclined and spread out on the bed.

“Are you awaiting a formal invitation, Potter? I do believe my fancy parchment and quill are in the other room.”

“Git.” Harry smiled and climbed into bed, as though it was something he did every day. Sharing a bed with his former nemesis. Draco pulled up the covers and they became a tangle of limbs, two puzzle pieces slotting together, warm, and safe. Harry decided to let all his worries go. They would still be there in the morning, and Draco’s body, wrapped around his, seemed more important. Draco pressed a kiss to Harry’s forehead, and another to his lips before he nestled into the crook of Harry’s neck. Harry interlaced their fingers and luxuriated on how soft they felt as they slid between his own.

“ _Nox,_ ” Draco said, his voice barely audible.

Harry swallowed. “I’m glad you came back.”

“Me too.”


	2. Convergence

“Mmmm,” Harry groaned, and Draco looked up to see Harry’s eyes flutter by the light of his _Lumos_ as he tongued his rapidly filling cock.

“’s early. Wha-, er, what are you doing?”

Draco rolled his eyes, entirely for his own benefit he realised belatedly. “What do you think I’m doing? Giving you a birthday blowjob.” He ran his hand up and down Harry’s fully hardened spit-slicked shaft.

“That’s not what I — _ahhh_ — meant.” Harry inhaled sharply, then struggled to put words together. He panted, “Er, continue. Talk later.”

Draco smirked as he planted small kisses along the inside of Harry’s thighs. He worked his way up, nipping at the tender skin while he leisurely stroked Harry’s cock with his hand. He lapped at Harry’s balls and slowly sucked one into his mouth. Harry sighed, clearly enjoying himself, and Draco couldn’t help but think about how lucky he was to have this, about how close he’d come to never having it again. What would have happened if he had taken the Dark Mark and not defied his father? His back still stung, but it was worth it.

He licked Harry’s shaft from root to tip and relished the shudder he received when he swirled his tongue around the glans, dipping into the slit before he swallowed him back down. He built up a pace alternating between sucking with hollowed cheeks and swirling around the tip, sucking on his foreskin. Harry writhed beneath him, the bed creaked with every movement, and all the noises he made had Draco painfully hard. Draco pressed his hand against his pants, and when he couldn’t stand it anymore, he reached in, wrapped his hand around his cock and began to stroke himself while he sucked Harry off. The way Harry trembled, his hips gently canting upward, seeking more, Draco knew it wouldn’t be much longer; he was barely holding off himself. Draco took him all the way down until Harry’s cock grazed the back of his throat, and he fought against his gag reflex. _Relax._

“Oh, I’m gonna – ”

Draco hummed, and the vibrations tipped Harry over the edge. With a loud moan he came down Draco’s throat, hand firmly fisted in Draco’s hair, the pain bringing Draco to the edge. Greedily he swallowed the salty, musky seed, and, unable to hold off any longer, shuddered as he spilled his own release. Before his breath could slow and return to normal, Harry pulled him up and kissed him deeply, ferociously. He gently carded his fingers through Draco’s hair in sharp contrast to what he’d done a moment before.

Harry whispered against Draco’s lips. “Mmmm, that was so good.”

“Happy Birthday Harry.” Draco collapsed on the bed and wrapped Harry up in his arms, his head resting gently on Draco’s chest. Stray hairs tickled Draco’s chin and he shifted to move them.

“Definitely not complaining,” Harry’s voice was still thick with sleep, “but why are you up so early? It’s still dark.”

“I couldn’t sleep. This bed is lumpy...and the sheets are rough.”

Harry snorted. “Of course they are.” He lifted his head and looked up at Draco. “Well, since we’re awake, can I return the favour?”

Draco gently guided Harry’s head back down onto his chest and felt his cheeks go pink. “Mmmm, I already took care of that.”

“When? During?” Harry asked and Draco hummed in assent. “That’s so hot.”

Draco, relieved that Harry thought so, ran his hand down Harry’s back and rested it on the swell of his arse. “Besides, it’s your day. I’m taking care of you today.”

“You don’t have to,” Harry said, his voice barely a whisper.

“I want to. Have you never been spoiled on your birthday?”

Harry shifted onto his side — the mattress squeaked in protest — and propped himself up on one elbow while he gave Draco an incredulous stare. “You’ve met the Dursleys.”

Draco huffed. “Well, today we’re changing that. This is your day. And we’re getting started now so we don’t miss it.” He flicked his wand, and the lights came on.

Harry blinked, bleary-eyed. “Miss what?”

“You’ll see. Now hurry up and get changed — wear this.” Draco reached beside the bed and passed Harry a wrapped package.

Harry eyed the package curiously, as though it might sprout eyes and fangs. “What’s this?”

Draco rolled his eyes fondly. “My dear, sweet idiot. It’s your first present. Open it.”

Harry carefully opened the package and looked inside. “These are really nice.”

“Of course they are. I chose them.”

Draco had selected an emerald green button-down shirt that he knew would bring out Harry’s eyes splendidly, black trousers that he suspected would cling nicely to Harry’s arse, and black dress shoes. The outfit was more formal than Harry would have normally worn, but, as it was his birthday, it was only fitting to dress for the occasion.

Draco refused to even look inside the bathroom; he could imagine the horrors that likely lurked within. Instead, he cast his usual sequence of Cleaning Spells over his body and hair. He aimed a few in Harry’s direction and delighted in his startled look as the magic washed over him. Draco winked at him and then got dressed in charcoal trousers with a royal blue button-down that he knew did wonderful things for his eyes and pale complexion.

Once dressed, Draco looked Harry over. He looked good enough to eat. But that would have to wait until later, he had plans. He gave Harry a nod of approval. “Now let’s get out of this decrepit hovel before we catch the Plague.” He relished Harry’s eye-roll.

***

There were three rules.

First, Harry would be blindfolded. Draco told him it was a part of the surprise — _I want you to feel it before you see it_ — but Harry was convinced it had more to do with Draco getting off on being in control. Not that Harry minded, so long as he got his turn later. It would always be a battle with them, although now the results were much more pleasant. 

They were seated on the couch in the main room. Draco bit his lip, and then smirked, his face partially obscured as he tied the blindfold. Harry desperately wanted to kiss the smirk off his face and nearly succeeded, but Draco dodged at the last second and placed a small peck on his cheek instead.

“Patience, darling,” he drawled.

Second, once they arrived, no matter what Harry felt, he was to remain seated and stay with Draco. Harry ran his hand along Draco’s thigh and in return, Draco pressed closer. Harry didn’t think this rule would be a problem.

Finally, and most importantly, under no circumstances was Harry to use magic.

“Harry, this is serious.” Harry felt Draco’s lips and teeth as he nibbled at the soft skin below Harry’s ear. He shivered. “Your magic is powerful and unpredictable, especially with the cuff, as we’ve seen.” Harry felt his stomach drop at the reminder of last night’s mishap. “The place we’re going to alters magic. Amplifies it. There’s no telling what might happen if you use yours. Do you promise?” Draco’s voice was silky smooth but urgent.

“I promise.” A soft peck on the lips left him wanting more. Harry sighed. “If it’s so risky then why are we going?”

“Because it’s beautiful. It’s an experience you’ll never forget, and I want you to have this.” Draco gave Harry a passionate kiss — slow, deep, delicious — then Harry felt the trickly sensation of an egg being cracked over his head. A Disillusionment Charm. Draco clasped Harry’s hand and his insides contracted. Expecting it didn’t make Apparition any better. 

With a _pop_ they landed — couch and all — somewhere outdoors. The cool early morning air nipped at Harry’s face and neck, similarly, but less pleasantly, than Draco had done earlier.

“Well, what do you think?” Harry could hear the smile in Draco’s voice.

“I can’t see anything.” Soft lips pressed gently against his. Harry could taste citrus and mint, the flavour lingered from Draco’s morning Tooth Cleaning Spell. 

“That’s the point. It’s a surprise.” A flutter of eyelashes brushed against Harry’s temple, followed by a gentle kiss along his jaw.

“It’s cold.” Harry liked his new outfit but missed the warmth of his hoodie. Draco had his arm around Harry and pulled him closer, but he was still cold.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Draco said. Suddenly, it was scorching hot. Too warm to be comfortable, but infinitely better than being cold. “Sorry about that. I tried for half a degree warmer.”

“It’s nice.” Harry felt a bead of sweat roll down his back. Then, just as quickly, the intensity decreased so they were pleasantly warm, but not sweaty.

“There, that’s better,” Draco said. “I’ve had practice using my magic here, but it’s still unpredictable.”

“I still don’t know where _here_ is.” Harry was curious, but also experienced a brief flash of fear contrasted with eager anticipation. His emotions swirled near the surface, barely under control.

Harry was calmed by another kiss. “You’ll see soon. What do you feel?”

Harry didn’t want to talk about his feelings, they were overwhelming. Instead, he took a moment to shift his focus away from his lover — _Lover? Boyfriend? Is that what they were?_ — and really _feel_ outwards, towards his surroundings. He understood why Draco had wanted him blindfolded. With vision removed, his other senses were heightened. Harry became aware of powerful vibrations. Forceful oscillations that pulsed and hummed, like the wards around Number 4, Privet Drive, but thousands of times more powerful. These were no doubt responsible for his torrent of emotions. The force called out to him as though it yearned for him to join, to become one, and he was so very tempted. This would be the reason for rule number two. Was it dangerous?

“I feel it,” Harry said, and Draco squeezed his thigh. “And I hear it.”

“It’s drawing you in, isn’t it?” Draco’s voice was quiet, his mouth near Harry’s ear.

“Why can’t I touch it? Is it dangerous?”

“It’s pure power. Raw power can corrupt or enlighten. It’s unpredictable.”

“I want to see.”

“Of course.” Draco removed the blindfold, and at first, all Harry could see was darkness and stars, but he knew something big was nearby. He could feel it. He yearned to stand, to move closer, but Draco’s warm hand stroking his thigh kept him rooted to the spot, grounded him.

Light began to creep up the horizon and spill through the gaps, illuminating the megaliths that stood before them. Breathtaking. Awe-inspiring. Those were the words that popped into his mind. Stonehenge at sunrise. Petunia and Vernon never would have brought him here, in part because they never brought him anywhere, but also because they avoided all places associated with pagan rituals. Such nonsense would interfere with their entirely normal existence. The experience was thrilling, and it permeated through Harry’s flesh and soaked right down into his bones. He noted that his ribs no longer ached and he wondered if the lines across Draco’s back would look less angry the next time he saw them. 

“Thank you.” Harry hugged Draco and kissed him.

“It’s truly spectacular at Summer and Winter Solstice.” Draco’s face held a dreamy expression. “Of course, that also brings out the Muggles in droves. Wizards have to get creative and bend space and time to enjoy it properly, unhindered and unobserved.”

Harry was certain the Disillusionment Charm, perhaps coupled with a Notice-Me-Not Charm, extended a good distance outward. A posh, green couch situated beside the stones might seem a tad out of place to Muggles.

As the sun continued to rise, light spilled higher through the arches. Harry chuckled when Draco opened his bag and pulled out a full tea service with breakfast sandwiches and pain au chocolat. Harry wondered what else he had in there. They ate and drank as they watched the sunrise.

“With the help of a Giant and an army Merlin brought this stone circle from Ireland,” Draco said and took another bite. He continued to talk about a king and the stones being a monument, but Harry became distracted watching Draco’s mouth, his eyes followed his tongue as it flicked out to lick a smear of chocolate from his lip. Draco caught him looking and smirked. “Do pay attention, Potter. This stone circle was built on the convergence of fourteen ley lines. It’s extremely powerful. That’s the force you feel.”

Harry raised his hand and felt the pull from the stones. The hairs stood on the back of his hand. He’d never been around such concentrated magic before, not even in the Department of Mysteries.

“Are we going to set up camp here today?” The surrounding fields were lush, and the power was intoxicating. Harry knew he could get lost in the sensation. Part of him wanted to.

For a moment Draco looked taken aback, as though shocked Harry would suggest such a thing, and Harry wondered if he’d said something wrong. But then Draco relaxed.

“We’re not. It’s not good to be this close to a place of power for an extended period. It can do strange things to your magic.” Draco’s brow furrowed. “But also, we’re in Wiltshire. Close to the Manor. We should be on our way soon. I probably shouldn’t have brought you so close to home, but I couldn’t resist showing you all this.”

Harry looked into Draco’s eyes and smiled. “I’m glad you did.”

Draco leaned in and gave him a soft kiss. “Now, I’m going to take you someplace beautiful.”

This place was beautiful. Harry wondered what else Draco had in mind. He took one final look at the megaliths and braced himself. They Disapparated.

“When we agreed to run away together, you must know that sleeping in a run-down shack on the verge of collapse wasn’t what I had in mind.”

Harry smiled. He knew he wouldn’t hear the end of it. But he had to admit what Draco had in mind was infinitely better. They’d landed in the Lake District; Draco said they were somewhere outside of Keswick. The surrounding area was beautiful: rolling hills, greenery as far as he could see, and, not too far away, a large lake with a glassy surface. They walked around for a while because Draco was determined to find the perfect spot. Eventually, Draco set up the tent in a meadow with a view of the lake and spelled it even larger than before. Harry wondered aloud about the structural integrity of the Extension Charms.

“Would you relax? I’m a professional,” Draco said in mock exasperation.

“Yeah, professional pain in my arse.”

Draco put his arms around Harry and let his hands slide down. He gave Harry’s arse a firm squeeze. “I could be,” he said, and kissed Harry so deeply and thoroughly that all thoughts of Extension Charms vanished.

***

Draco set to work creating a beautiful living space for the two of them. While their camp may be temporary, it didn’t have to be shabby. There was nothing wrong with a little grandeur. Perhaps he was overcompensating, but he needed to exorcise the image of their previous accommodation. Harry watched him work for a little while, and then excused himself to go for a walk.

“If you get lost, just set something on fire and I’ll come to find you,” Draco called out. Harry flashed him a dark look. “Too soon?” he asked innocently. Harry gave him a two finger salute, smiling while he did it, and Draco laughed.

It was just as well. Although he made light of the situation, the truth was that Draco was worried about Harry’s magic and the cuff, and it was difficult to keep his concern to himself. He’d never see magic behave the way Harry’s had last night. Trust Potter to be difficult and different. When Draco first used the cuff, he’d just slipped it on and cast as per usual. There was no adjustment period. Draco didn’t know what was wrong and he didn’t like it. But he decided today wasn’t the day to dwell on it, especially when it was a day to celebrate.

Clearly in possession of superior taste, Draco was grateful to have carte blanche to design their living space. He knew Harry would have been content to sleep on a plain mat in the original Muggle version of the tent. Draco shuddered as he recalled first seeing it back in the ravine. Fortunately, he excelled at charmwork and transfiguration.

There was another reason Draco was glad to be alone. Although he tried to keep his focus on interior design, his thoughts kept wandering back to Harry’s Muggle relatives. They churned inside him, dark and angry, like a storm ready to burst, and he struggled to maintain his composure. He’d promised Harry he wouldn’t go back, but he desperately wanted to. He’d hexed them once before, but that was nothing, a childish prank. This time, he wanted to torture them, to make them suffer for everything they’d done to Harry. He could do it quickly, and Harry wouldn’t even have to know. Draco closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. _No_. That’s something his father would do.

Instead, Draco forced himself to focus. He divided the outdoor space into two separate areas: a cosy sitting area with a dining area adjacent. He adjusted the couch he’d transfigured earlier, added curved mahogany accents, an Art Nouveau influence, just like he’d always wanted. His father considered Art Nouveau, and his mother’s flair for Rococo, to be ostentatious and refused to allow them in the Manor (although he knew his mother kept a few pieces hidden away). Lucius preferred the more austere Elizabethan and Jacobean period furniture. Draco transfigured a small matching table and placed his copy of _Moste Potente Potions_ on top. He loved the idea of eating al fresco; his father would never have allowed anything so gauche. Draco enlarged the table and chairs he’d brought from his rooms and placed the candelabra alongside while he imagined dining with Harry under the stars.

Once Draco had finished with the interior of the tent, with a heavy heart he set the wards so that only himself and Harry could find their camp. Bilby would be free to come and go, wards didn’t work on House-Elves, but they would eliminate the possibility of Owl Post. It was a bittersweet necessity. Not that his mother would necessarily send an owl; the risk would be too great.

Draco’s nerves gnawed at him. The ceremony was supposed to take place this evening. His ceremony. To receive the Dark Mark. He had no regrets, no desire to be branded, and certainly no longer held any aspirations to follow in his father’s footsteps. But he did feel guilty about leaving his mother behind. Would the Dark Lord punish her in his absence? Draco trembled at the thought. But he took a deep, cleansing breath and pushed his worry aside. Malfoys didn’t dwell.

By the time Harry returned, smelling distinctly of smoke, Draco had packed up the charmed picnic basket with their lunch and more presents for Harry.

They settled for the afternoon on a blanket beside the lake and Draco noted a suspicious pair of scorch marks in the ground nearby.

“Anything you want to tell me?”

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. “Not really.”

Because it was his birthday, Draco agreed to let it go. Instead, he pulled Harry closer and kissed him. “It will get better,” he said, and hoped he was right.

***

“It’s almost time,” Draco announced. They’d fallen asleep after lunch and had just made it back to camp. Harry’s stomach was tied into knots. He didn’t know why, but he was nervous to meet Bilby. He knew in the eyes of most pureblood wizards, House-Elves were akin to servants. But Draco held Bilby in high regard. She was family. He would have only been more nervous if Narcissa were to join them.

“Darling,” Draco said, “you still smell like fire. Why don’t you go change and I’ll take care of everything else.”

During his walk, Harry had gathered and arranged a pile of sticks. Knowing he could easily set things on fire, it made sense to cast _Incendio_. Of course, nothing happened. So, Harry tried a half-arsed Levitation Charm, and, surprisingly, it worked. But the sticks caught fire mid-air. Startled, Harry dropped the charm and they fell onto dry grass. He’d barely managed to scoop enough water from the lake to put out the fire before it spread. He’d hoped to keep the misadventure to himself, to not have to talk about it, but of course Draco, for whatever inexplicable reason, had been drawn to that exact spot for their picnic.

The old Draco would have taunted him mercilessly for his ineptitude, and there was a part of Harry that expected him to resurface. Instead, Draco had been rather decent and understanding. Harry still wasn’t used to it.

Harry walked into the tent and stopped abruptly. Fairy lights adorned the entrance. Taking up a large part of the interior was an enormous four-poster bed with carved dragons wound around each of the posts: a Hebridean Black, Hungarian Horntail, Ukrainian Ironbelly and a Norwegian Ridgeback. A gorgeous Antipodean Opaleye spanned the expanse of the headboard, wings outstretched, the epitome of grace and power. The wood was dark, almost black, although there were slight variations amongst the dragons and the Opaleye had a silverish shimmer. The dragons were perfectly carved and impeccably polished, just like Draco, with sinuous lines and sharp angles. Their school trunks fit neatly, side by side, at the foot of the bed.

Harry changed into a fresh outfit: dark trousers and a purple — _aubergine,_ Draco had called it — button-down. Draco had given him a new present almost every hour during the day. It was lovely, but too much. At least now he understood why Draco had told him not to pack any of his old clothing.

Harry heard a loud _pop_ outside the tent followed by hushed whispers. He finished dressing quickly and when he emerged, he found Draco and Bilby speaking conspiratorially, surrounded by an array of items brought from the Manor. Bilby was different than what he had expected. She was calm and unruffled, the opposite of Dobby who was high-strung and easily excitable. She had a small tear to one ear, an old injury, and the pillowcase she wore had been fashioned from expensive-looking fabric and was gathered at the waist, the top portion turned down to form a collar. She was an elf who took pride in her appearance and most likely in her job as well. She seemed deeply intelligent with wisdom that extended beyond her years. There was a kindness to her demeanour, but Harry had a feeling Bilby managed Draco rather than the other way around. The thought made him smile.

Draco brightened when he saw Harry.

“Harry, please come and meet Bilby. Bilby this is – ”

“Master’s special friend,” she said and curtsied.

Harry found himself a bit disappointed to be referred to as a friend. Had Draco told Bilby about them? Or was he still an elusive secret?

They moved through the pleasantries and onto dinner. Draco made a show of commanding Bilby, and she placated him, meeting every demand, but tutted when he asked for wine. When Harry quietly asked Draco about this, Bilby instantly materialised by his side which made him jump. She smirked at his reaction, as though it were intended. She went on about how former master Lucius was a brilliant man, a kind master, but was ruined by overindulgence. Harry was certain Lucius’ character flaws extended far beyond the bottle, but he said nothing. 

“I’m not my father,” Draco reminded her, sounding petulant. “Besides, it’s Harry’s birthday.”

She clicked her tongue, but despite her obvious disapproval, she conjured two crystal glasses and a bottle of red wine. She tilted the label in Draco’s direction, and he asked for something different to better accompany the meal. She snapped her fingers, and the bottle was replaced with another more to Draco’s pleasing. 

The food was brilliant — roast lamb with baby potatoes and asparagus — but Draco seemed distracted and agitated throughout the meal, which in turn made Harry nervous. Did he regret running away already? Or was it something else altogether? 

For dessert there was a decadent chocolate treacle tart — two of Harry’s favourite things, combined to create something new and delicious — with a single candle lit in the centre. Bilby, in her sweet soprano voice, sang _Happy Birthday_. Harry stared into Draco’s eyes as he blew out the candle.

After they’d eaten, Draco announced, “Time for presents.”

“What?” Harry exclaimed, “You’ve already given me so much.”

“You’ve just never had anyone fuss over you,” Draco said. “Well, you had better get used to it because I plan to fuss over you a lot.”

They moved over to the couch while Bilby got to work setting up her own miniature tent.

There were a few more books: a fascinating one about tactical Quidditch manoeuvres, and several about Magical Theory, which Harry thought may appeal more to Draco than to himself. He came to the realisation that Draco had a lot in common with Hermione. If they hadn’t all gotten off on the wrong foot, they probably would be good friends by now.

Of the many things sent from Malfoy Manor, there were two letters from Narcissa, one for Draco, and, surprisingly, one for Harry.

Draco poured over his in silence and Harry did the same.

_Dear Harry,_

_I know we’ve not formally met, but I do hope we can become better acquainted and that one day you will consider me a friend. Knowing that you and Draco are together, and can count on one another during this troublesome time, puts my heart (and mind) at ease. Draco mentioned it’s your birthday. I hope the two of you have had a wonderful day together; Draco has always been good at planning surprises. I wish you a Happy Birthday and hope that one day we will meet under happier circumstances._

_Sincerely,_

_Narcissa Malfoy_

There was a box with the note. Harry untied the ribbon and lifted the lid. Inside was a travelling cloak, just like Draco’s, but in emerald green.

“It matches your eyes,” Draco remarked. He carefully folded his own letter and put it in his pocket.

Harry lifted the cloak out of the box and admired it. “How did she know what size to get?”

“It’s spelled to automatically adjust when you put it on for the first time,” Draco said. “Try it on.”

Harry did as he was told and marvelled as the sleeves shortened to the proper length as did the hem.

“It’s got Cooling and Warming Charms built-in.” Draco conjured a mirror and Harry turned around and admired his reflection. The cloak billowed outward in a manner that would have made Snape envious.

“It’s brilliant.”

“It means she likes you. That she approves.” Draco beamed, his smile reached his eyes

“That’s a good thing,” Harry said, relieved.

“It really is.” Draco sat up straighter. Uncharacteristically, he fidgeted with his collar. Why was he so nervous?

“I’ve one last gift for you,” Draco said, and his eyes seemed unsure. Was this the reason he’d seemed so distracted during dinner? Why would he be nervous about a gift?

“You’ve already given me so much,” Harry said. “You really shouldn’t have.” He pressed his thigh against Draco’s.

“This gift is a little different.” He sighed. “You’ll either want to punch me or kiss me. I do hope it’s the latter.”

“Why would I punch you over a gift? That sounds a bit ungrateful. And dramatic. We all know you’re the dramatic one here.” Harry’s comment earned him a sly smile and a playful tap on the shoulder.

“It all depends on whether or not you’re ready for it.” He bit his lip and Bilby, materialising out of nowhere, passed him a package.

“Sounds ominous.”

Draco passed over the gift and Harry held it in his hands. It was reasonably heavy and rectangular. Another book perhaps? Leave it to Draco to gift him a remedial potions textbook. Was that why Draco thought he’d be upset?

Harry unwrapped it and stared in disbelief; felt all the colour drain from his face. He couldn’t move even if he wanted to.

“Hey kiddo,” came the voice from the portrait.

Harry found he could not form words. He just sat there and stared dumbly at the painting.

The man in the portrait gave a hearty belly laugh. “I’ve rendered you speechless, have I?”

“You can’t be serious,” Harry said, and his voice sounded so small.

“I am Sirius. Seriously Sirius,” he chuckled, and if Harry hadn’t felt like he’d just been _Stupefied_ , he would have cringed at the lame joke.

“Sirius, I” — he let out a shaky breath — “I never thought I’d see you again.”

“Well, here I am, in the flesh, so to speak. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

It was Sirius, but it wasn’t. Not exactly. This was a much younger version of the man he’d known, just like the boy he’d seen in Snape’s Pensieve memory. Harry estimated him to be about his age. Sixteen. Yet he sounded just like _his_ Sirius, the much older one.

Harry wiped a tear from his eye with the back of his sleeve and Draco gave his thigh a reassuring squeeze. An instant later, a flurry of thoughts and emotions surrounding Sirius’ last moments came flooding back.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry said. “I didn’t think. I wanted to rescue you and I ended up – ”

“Shhhhh, stop,” Sirius soothed. “You didn’t kill me, Bellatrix did. You did nothing wrong. I let my guard down. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Harry nodded, and then became more agitated. Draco kept his hand on Harry’s thigh, a comforting presence.

“Well, it never would have happened if Dumbledore had filled me in on a few key details. You know, my mind connection with the Dark Lord, among other things.”

“About that, we need to talk.”

Draco gave Harry’s thigh a final squeeze and stood up. He looked at Sirius. “I’ll give you two a moment.”

“Please,” Sirius said. Draco nodded and excused himself.

“On the one hand, I have to say I’m a bit disappointed that you’ve left. I thought you wanted to be a part of the Order and fight.”

Disappointed? That was rich. Sirius would have left too, or leapt into action, had he not been forced into confinement. Harry couldn’t believe he was being scolded by a painting.

“I did. But everyone kept handling me so carefully, treating me like I’m some useless child. I’ve faced Vol” — he stopped himself, just in time, remembering Draco’s earlier warning — “You-Know-Who more times than most in the Order. I deserved to be filled in. Besides, Dumbledore wanted me to spend the entire summer — THE ENTIRE SUMMER — at the Dursleys and I just couldn’t take it any longer.” Harry’s magic crackled and the air smelled of ozone. The candles almost flickered out.

“Easy there.” Sirius had his hands raised as though he could feel Harry’s magic. Maybe he could. Harry willed himself to be calm and the flames steadied. “I can’t say I blame you then, given Dumbledore’s habit of withholding information, even though he insists he has his reasons. I know what it feels like to be confined and useless.”

“That’s exactly how I felt.” Harry felt mollified. “You said _on the one hand._ What about the other?”

Sirius laughed. “On the other hand, I’m impressed. It takes stones to defy Dumbledore. You and Draco on the run? That feels like something the Marauders would have done. Your father, or at least the teenage version of himself, would have been proud.”

Harry beamed. “What about you?”

“I’m always proud of you. Are you having a good time?”

Harry smiled. “I am.”

“I don’t know my cousin very well. He seems all right, a tad entitled, perhaps. But that’s just his upbringing. I was the same when I was younger. He’s a Black through and through.” Sirius raised an eyebrow. “But I thought, from everything you’ve told me, that you two didn’t get along? _Mortal enemies_ , I believe you once said.”

Harry coughed. “Er, some things have changed. We get along just fine now.” He could feel a flush colouring his cheeks.

“You look tired, kid.” Sirius narrowed his eyes as he looked Harry over.

“It’s been a long day,” Harry said. “We had an early start.”

Softly, Sirius said, “Might be time to call it a night then? I’ll still be here in the morning.”

Harry smiled fondly, warmed by Sirius’ parental concern. He looked up, and he could see Draco framed by the tent opening. Harry’s heart felt so full it might burst, and suddenly he had the undeniable urge to go to him, to wrap his arms around him, and thank him.

Harry looked back down at the painting in his hands. “Maybe I should,” he said. But he really didn’t feel like sleeping at all. In fact, sleep was the last thing on his mind. “I’ll have to figure out how and where to hang you. But for now, I’ll just put you in my trunk. Is that all right?”

“I’m sure that will be fine.”

Harry stood, tucked the portrait under his arm and strode towards the tent.

“One more thing,” Sirius said. Harry paused and looked down. “Happy Birthday Harry.”

Harry smiled. “Thanks, Sirius.”

Harry closed the trunk and looked up. Draco eyed him curiously. A lock of hair fell over his eye, and Harry found the look endearing.

“So, you’re not mad?” Draco asked, and took a tentative step towards Harry.

Harry walked right up to Draco until they were chest to chest. He put an arm around Draco’s waist and brushed the hair out of his eye.

“Are you kidding me? This is the most amazing present I’ve ever received. Right along with the photo album of my parents that Hagrid gave me at the end of first year. I’m – ” he stopped himself and kissed Draco, hard, instead. “How did you get it? I thought Walburga burned all his portraits.”

Draco smiled and traced Harry’s lip with his thumb. “She did, except for this one. Mother was over for tea and she saw them all lined up, awaiting destruction. Sirius was her favourite cousin and the falling-out broke her heart. So, she smuggled this one, his most recent portrait, and kept it hidden. It’s been sitting in the Manor attic for ages. I asked Bilby to find it.”

“It’s amazing.”

Draco bit his lip. “I know it’s not the real thing, but – ”

“But nothing. It’s perfect. I can’t believe you thought to do this for me. This means everything to me.” Harry leaned in and kissed Draco again, slower, relishing the slide of his lips, the silky-soft texture of his hair as he ran his fingers through it, and the heat from his body as they pressed together.

“I want you to get into bed and lay down,” Draco said, with a wicked gleam in his eye.

“No,” Harry said, calmly, firmly.

“No?” Draco said, incredulous. 

Opposing Draco lit a fire in Harry’s belly and the blaze extended down to his groin. “That’s right. I said _no_. What’s going to happen is you’re going to get into bed and wait for me.”

“Is that so? I’m supposed to take care of you today.”

“And you have,” Harry said, backing Draco up against the bed and giving him a gentle shove. He acquiesced and climbed into bed. Harry followed. “But now it’s my turn to thank you. To show you how grateful I am.” Harry climbed on top.

“Just how grateful are you?” Draco’s eyes darkened.

“Let me show you.” Harry took Draco’s wrists in his hands and pinned them behind his head. With their hips aligned, Draco took the opportunity to rut upwards against Harry, smirking as Harry groaned at the friction. He leaned forward and kissed Draco, long enough to swipe his tongue inside, but not long enough to truly satisfy. Pleased with Draco’s tiny grunt of disapproval when he broke off their kiss, Harry ghosted his lips along his jaw and licked a trail down his neck. Harry sat up and licked his lips as he began to unbutton Draco’s shirt, staring into his eyes — intense, like molten silver — the entire time. He let Draco sit up long enough to pull the shirt off before he pushed him back down and sucked a bruise right under his collarbone, reminiscent of the one Draco gave to him the first day they kissed. Harry adored how expressive Draco was; his heart fluttered with every response. Harry slid downward and ran his tongue over Draco’s hardened left nipple. He gave it a soft bite — Draco gasped — and rolled it gently between his teeth. He flicked his tongue over the nub to cool it off before he did the same with the other nipple.

“Fuck, Harry, that feels so good.”

“I’m just getting started.”

Draco carded his fingers through Harry’s hair. “Don’t you dare stop.”

Harry smiled, kissed a trail down his abdomen, and when he dipped his tongue into the navel, Draco squirmed and let out a deep, rich laugh. Who knew Draco Malfoy was ticklish? He filed this information away for later use. Harry opened his trousers and Draco lifted his hips so he could slide them, and his pants, down in one go. This was Harry’s first time seeing Draco completely naked. He stared reverently. Harry sat between Draco’s legs and took him in hand. He’d never gone down on anyone before, but Harry remembered, in exquisite detail, everything that had been done to him and he endeavoured to give back every bit and more. He licked a firm stripe from base to tip and Draco shuddered beneath him. When Harry took him in his mouth, he discovered just how vocal Draco could be — _Yes. More. That’s right, there,_ — and every command sent a thrill down to his cock. He completely understood Draco’s need to take himself in hand while doing this, and he did the same, relishing the glide of his own hand, slick with precome, as he reduced Draco to a shuddering mess beneath him.

After they both climaxed, and Draco had cast the necessary Cleaning Spells, they relaxed in each other's arms. Harry luxuriated in the soft-yet-firm bed and the silky sheets while he stared up at the canopy ceiling. Draco had re-done the spellwork to create the night sky, complete with animated constellations: Taurus stomped and charged at Aries, Pegasus flew overhead, and Sagitarrius shot arrows at Aquila. But, Harry noticed, this time the dragon and the lion were intertwined.

“I don’t think Draco and Leo are normally that close together.”

Draco shifted, so that he was the big spoon and Harry the little spoon, and kissed Harry’s earlobe. He let out a contented sigh as he nestled against Harry’s neck. 

“Well, they should be.” 


	3. All of Her Pointed Stares

Narcissa stood in the greatly altered room, warded so only she and Draco could enter. Her chest felt tight, as though her heart was contained inside a box too small. He was really gone. In the early morning light, the room seemed barren. Gone were the bed and bedside tables. The bookshelves, bare; the table, chairs and grand candelabra were also missing. She chuckled, wryly. Draco always had a flair for the dramatic and he did not know how to pack lightly. It had always been such a nightmare to send him off to Hogwarts each year. But this was different. This felt more permanent, and her heart ached with the void he left behind. Well, wherever he was — _wherever they were,_ she corrected — they had what they needed. Whatever Draco hadn’t managed to pack, he could transfigure. Still, she couldn’t help but worry. How would they fare on their own? She reminded herself that they were old enough, and they had Bilby.

Upon rising, she’d summoned Pipsy for a calming cup of chamomile tea, but her hands still shook. The tea spilled over the rim, and the sound of clattering china frayed her nerves. She’d set the cup aside.

When the Dark Lord found out Draco was missing, she and Lucius had been immediately escorted to the Ballroom where he’d set up his throne. She squared her shoulders as they passed the dead Dracaena that flanked the entryway. Nothing would grow there now; it would take constant magic from a House-Elf, permanently stationed at the door, to counteract the death that radiated outward from where the Dark Lord held court. She’d knelt at his feet as was customary, her forehead flush with the marble floor. He spoke with ice-cold fury, his voice surly and serpentine, and commanded her to rise. His magic, cold and dirty, sent shivers along her spine as he tried to infiltrate her mind. She smiled demurely and fed him false memories. They seemed to satisfy. But punishment was forthcoming; the Dark Lord always set an example. He never got his own hands dirty, though. Instead, he called for Bella. Narcissa wasn’t naïve enough to expect preferential treatment from her sister. When Bella cast curses, she always meant them.

***

Harry arched and stretched slowly, groggy with sleep, but happy. Draco’s bed was heavenly, the sheets soft and welcoming. Draco’s side, however, was empty. Harry heard a muffled noise — an incessant whisper — that came from somewhere near the foot of the bed.

“Pssst, kiddo.”

Harry shuffled down and opened his trunk. He lifted out Sirius’ portrait and smiled. It had been such a shock to see Sirius last night that he hadn’t really taken in many details of the portrait. Sixteen-year-old Sirius had shoulder-length black hair, a little messy, but not as unruly as Harry and his father’s. He had bright grey eyes like Draco, a Black family trait. The frame was ornate, covered in gilded serpents, and there was a fainting couch painted in the background that practically shouted _pureblood_ and _propriety_. The leather-jacket clad Sirius looked very out of place. But, Harry realised, that might have more to do with the peculiar look on Sirius’ face. Harry worried what it meant.

“Morning. I trust you slept well?” Sirius asked the question in a stilted manner, as though the words were forced.

“Erm, yes. And you?” How long did portraits sleep? The same as the living?

“I slept fine, Harry. But I must ask, can you do an old man a favour” — _You’re not that old,_ Harry interjected — “and next time cast a Silencing Charm? There are some things a godfather should not have to hear.”

Heat rose to Harry’s cheeks. “The trunk isn’t soundproof?” His voice came out slightly strangled.

“I’m afraid not. So next time, cast the charm and provide me with a little plausible deniability, all right?” Sirius smiled as though it were all a big joke which Harry found reassuring.

“So, you don’t mind? You’re not disappointed?”

“What? That he’s a boy? No, Draco seems like a fine young man. You seem happy. You both sounded, er, _happy_.” Harry’s cheeks burned hotter. “Besides, if I minded, that would certainly be the cauldron calling the kettle black. Well, I am a Black, but you know what I mean.” He chuckled at his little joke.

Harry rolled his eyes, but then grasped his meaning. “Wait, you’re – ”

“Yes. Just like you.”

Harry bit his lip. “I didn’t know.”

“We never spoke about it.”

Draco came up behind Harry and put his hand on the small of Harry’s back. “Breakfast is almost ready. I trust you will join us, Sirius?” He slid his hand down and gave Harry’s arse a firm squeeze. Harry tried his best to keep his face neutral, but Sirius gave him a knowing look.

“Draco, did you sleep well?” Sirius asked and Harry choked a little. Why couldn’t he leave last night alone?

Draco gave Harry a curious glance before he replied, “I did indeed, thank you for asking.”

“Sirius, behave,” Harry hissed after Draco had gone back outside. Sirius waggled his eyebrows suggesting he had no intention of behaving. Harry sighed. He considered the portrait, and after a moment said, “I still feel like we should hang you. But I’m not sure how to do that in a tent.”

“With a Sticking Charm, obviously,” Draco’s voice drifted in from outside.

“Harry,” Sirius eyed him sternly, “I don’t exactly want to overlook your bed at night.”

“Erm, right.” Harry knew he was blushing again.

“The trunk is fine. With a Silencing Charm.”

The breakfast table was a sight: crisp linens, tea, freshly squeezed orange juice, plates piled high with pancakes and sausages.

“This looks amazing,” Harry said. Bilby materialised beside him and he startled. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to that. She smiled and curtsied.

“God, I miss food,” Sirius said, as Harry placed the portrait onto one of the empty chairs.

“Do you get hungry?” Harry asked.

“No, but I do miss eating. It’s more the sensation, really.”

Harry wished he could paint a big stack of pancakes into Sirius’ portrait. Well, he did, until the next part of the conversation.

“So, are you enjoying the sausage?” Sirius asked, one eyebrow raised, and Harry almost choked. He wished there was some way to discreetly kick a portrait from under the table. No, Sirius would not be getting any pancakes.

“I thought you didn’t want to know about the sausage,” Harry countered when he regained the power of speech.

“Don’t be silly, Harry,” Draco chided. “The sausage is excellent. Top-quality, of course, from Alsace. Sirius, I am sorry you can’t experience it for yourself, it’s delicious.” Harry glared at Sirius, who appeared mirthful, and was grateful that Draco hadn’t caught his meaning. 

After he’d cleared his plate, Harry asked, “Sirius, this is obviously a portrait of you around my age. Yet, you still sound, well, like you. Older you. How does that work?”

“Well,” Sirius said, and paused for a moment, deep in thought. “Portraits are charmed with enough of the subject’s magic to become animated, and, over time, sentient. It’s a bit different, though, when the subject isn’t grown. Usually, a new portrait is painted, and the magic is transferred to the new portrait. Any previous portrait is left with a personality corresponding to the age of the person in the painting. But, in my case, there was no new portrait, so the magic continued to age. Since there are no other portraits of me in existence, I cannot travel out of this frame. Although, I suppose I should be grateful that my dear mother did indeed burn all the others. It would be hell to experience puberty all over again.”

Sirius chuckled, but it made Harry think. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if he could somehow make a new painting of Sirius, one that was closer to his real age? How would one transfer the magical signature from one portrait to another? He’d have to look into it.

***

They moved every three days, seeking out-of-the-way places with few wizards or Muggles. Draco set wards to keep out those who were camping or similarly enjoying nature. They visited several national parks: Snowdonia, with its majestic peaks and lakes; Dartmoor, with its granite hilltops; North York Moor, a sea of purple heather; and they even ventured to the outskirts of Loch Ness. Draco found it amusing that Muggles believed the loch was inhabited by a mythical dinosaur. Clearly it was a Water Dragon.

Bilby was able to Apparate their camp in its entirety, so they needn’t pack it up each time and Draco didn’t have to re-do his spellwork. This left more time for reading. It also left Draco with more time to fixate on Harry’s horrible Muggle relatives, on all the things he wanted to do to them, the torture he wanted to inflict, slow and deliberate. Draco wanted to move on and forget, as Harry had asked, but he found he could not. He wanted vengeance.

Draco awoke with a start; it had happened more often as of late. He’d dreamed of his Aunt Bella. She leered at him, her eyes suggesting she knew things he did not, and when he looked down, the Dark Mark glowed on his arm. The skull taunted him as the snake writhed, lifelike and venomous. He’d rejected his fate, run away instead, but was it too late? Was the darkness already a part of him? Did he already have the snake’s venom coursing through his veins? His response, every time he dreamed this horrible dream, was to pull Harry closer to him, to cling to him, as though Harry’s light could chase away the dark. But even Harry had once said, _Will you become a Death Eater too? Maybe it runs in the family_. Draco shuddered at the awful memory of their fight. But he couldn’t help but wonder, what if Harry was right? What if it did?

The situation with Harry’s magic had not improved. If anything, it had gotten worse. Each failure made Harry more snappish and less likely to try. Harry’s magic had always been a little unruly, not unlike his hair, but this was extreme, even for him. Draco didn’t mind doing things for Harry, though. In fact, he liked it. A little too much. A small, twisted part of his mind made it known that if Harry depended on him, then perhaps he wouldn’t leave him. Draco felt ashamed for even thinking such a thing.

But still, Draco genuinely wanted to help. Yet every time he did, he somehow managed to make things worse. He’d charmed Sirius’ portrait so Harry only needed to tap once to enlarge it and twice to reduce it. Draco was pleased with the results, certain it would be easier for Harry when he took Sirius for walks. But Harry had looked at him as though he’d been hexed.

When Harry did practice magic, it often resulted in flames. But not always. One time, Harry tried to cast a simple _Aguamenti_ , just enough to water one tiny plant, and the water sprayed forth with extreme force like a fountain. Draco couldn’t help but laugh. He tried to maintain his composure, but it was too funny. At first, Harry had looked hurt and deeply betrayed by his laughter, but then he angled his wand so that Draco got soaked. Soon then they were both laughing and wet. They ended up kissing and rolling on the ground, filthy, covered in mud.

Bilby tutted her disapproval, but Draco could see her cheek twitch as she tried to stifle her laughter. She could have just waved her hand and spelled them clean in an instant. Instead, she Apparated them just above the lake and they landed with a _splash_. The situation was hilarious, but Draco found it hard to laugh with water up his nose. Of course, Harry took advantage of his distraction and pushed him under the water before he tickled him within an inch of his life. They were still laughing as they carried their wet clothing back to camp.

But after that, Harry only did things the Muggle way. If he practised magic at all, it was in private. Draco also noted that Harry had started wearing his old thread-bare hoodie again, a ghastly thing. He asked Bilby to buy him something new the next time she did their shopping.

Draco wished Harry would talk to him, confide in him, the way he surely would have done with Granger and the Weasel. They were alone, together, and yet Draco still didn’t have Harry’s full attention. With each day, Harry drifted further away, and Draco didn’t know what to do. 

One night, Harry gathered sticks and arranged them for a campfire. Draco came to sit beside him, and, without thinking, he lifted his wand to cast _Incendio_. Harry glared at him and pulled out his Muggle firebox instead. Harry sparked a flame and lit the fire.

“See? Not completely useless.”

“I never said you were,” Draco replied quietly.

Harry sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said and buried his fingers in Draco’s hair. Draco could feel the raw power of Harry’s magic, pulsing and swirling around him; it was like an aphrodisiac, Harry was his own personal Stonehenge. Draco wanted to tell Harry that everything would be okay, tell him that his heart swelled whenever Harry looked in his direction, about how much he wanted him, but the words got stuck in his throat. It was too great a risk. Instead, he pulled Harry in for a kiss, which quickly became heated. They moved to the tent, Draco cast a hefty Silencing Charm, and they took turns taking each other apart, piece by piece, and putting each other back together again.

They were very late for dinner.

“You love him, don’t you?”

Draco startled. He’d forgotten the portrait was there, propped up against the chair. He quickly cast a Silencing Charm around them. Was he that easy to read? Had he forgotten to maintain a neutral face as he’d always done before? It must have shown, and he cringed, just a little bit, at his vulnerability. He tore his eyes away from Harry, with Bilby over by her tent, and Draco looked at the portrait. He slowly nodded. He had grown fond of his cousin. Sirius could be infuriating, the way his mother and Aunt Bella could be, but he also had a relaxed attitude that made him easy to talk to.

“Don’t you dare tell him,” Draco said, his voice low and menacing.

Sirius shook his head. “It’s not for me to share your secrets. But why won’t you tell him yourself?”

Draco contemplated his response, with a sigh, and decided on honesty. “Because it’s not going to last. How can it? This is a fantasy, and all fantasies end. Harry may have said he’ll choose me too, but I know what will happen once he’s reunited with Granger and Weasley. They won’t like this one little bit and we’ll be through. He’ll end it.” Draco swallowed, his throat tight, and tried hard not to focus on how much of his heart he stood to lose when Harry did as he expected. Draco’s own father hadn’t chosen him, why would Harry be any different?

“You don’t think a trio can become a quartet? I’ve seen the way Hermione and Ron look at each other. If they haven’t figured it out for themselves by now, they will. It’s only a matter of time. And Harry will feel like a third wheel without you. He needs you.”

“But I’m not good like them.” His nightmares, Bellatrix, flashed before his eyes. He remembered, with shame, his earlier desire to have Harry dependent on him so he wouldn’t leave. Weasley and Granger would never have even considered such a thing. He wasn’t worthy of Harry. He came from a family of Death Eaters. “My father and aunt are both aligned with the Dark Lord.”

“A fact that we both know Harry has chosen not to hold against you. I suggest you do the same. You’ve made your own choices. You are no more your family than I am mine. I understand that better than anyone. You forget who you’re talking to.” Sirius Black, the rebellious son of a long line of Slytherins. Brother to a Death Eater.

“Sometimes I want to hurt people. The Dursleys, to be specific. Sometimes my father.”

Sirius eyed Draco carefully. “Dark thoughts don’t make you a bad person. We all have them. You are defined by your actions alone.”

Draco nodded, cancelled the Silencing Charm, and returned his gaze to Harry. He could never look away for long.

***

While Draco easily filled the time with reading or making small improvements to their campsite, Harry felt restless. He wasn’t used to having this much free time. During the school year, Hermione bossed him around and guilted him into completing his assignments. Throughout the summer, there was always the endless supply of tasks provided by the Dursleys. His time in the ravine, with nothing else to do, had been bliss. With nothing but free-time, Harry was at a loss.

He knew what he _should_ be doing: practising his magic with the cuff. The trouble was, the results were always so humiliating. It was as though he’d turned into Seamus Finnigan, or perhaps Ron that time his wand had been broken. Except, there was nothing wrong with his wand. Maybe there was something wrong with him? Draco made it all look so easy. His spellwork was precise and he was beautiful while he worked. In contrast, Harry was graceless and felt increasingly useless.

There was another problem too. One he hadn’t shared with anyone, not even Sirius. Sometimes, the hairs on the back of his arm, especially his wand arm, would stand on end and his magic would crackle around him, ready to explode. His temper followed a similar pattern. He was terrified he would soon start fires spontaneously, even without casting. 

Quite by accident, he discovered a temporary solution: exercise. Jogging and doing circuits of push-ups, sit-ups, jumping jacks and squats helped alleviate the magical build-up. It also served to fill in time and Harry quickly became addicted. He also appreciated the time alone, to brood.

Bilby made her opinions known. Harry quickly learned he got extra dessert when he practised magic, even simple spells. When he refused, he was subjected to Bilby’s pointed stares and muttered remarks whenever she was close by, which was often, as she materialised out of nowhere catching Harry unawares. But, still, if Hermione couldn’t guilt him into learning Occlumency, he didn’t think Bilby stood a chance with this. He liked dessert, but all of her pointed stares weren’t enough to make Harry embarrass himself further in front of the boy he fancied. Loved. He didn’t want to remind Draco of what a failure he was; he’d realise that soon enough on his own. After a while, he found ignoring the problem to be a better solution. Bilby did not approve. For many days Harry did not get dessert. Ultimately, he compromised, but would only use his magic away from Draco.

“So, it’s not getting any easier, then?”

Harry gaped at the portrait. “No, obviously not.” Sirius had just watched him set fire to an entire field. Bilby materialised instantly, as though it was just a normal part of her day, put out the fire and healed the plants. She left Harry with a smile and a glass of butterbeer in his hand, which he drank quickly. He hadn’t even realised he was thirsty. The glass disappeared once the last drop was gone.

“You just need to practice more. You’ll get it. Remember, you couldn’t even cast a Patronus right away.” Sirius’ laid-back attitude grated on Harry’s nerves.

“This isn’t about mastering a spell. It’s my magic not working through this wretched cuff.” He traced the runes on the Furtivus Cuff, equally awed at its beauty and the freedom it was supposed to deliver and annoyed at how it didn’t seem to work properly for him. “Draco makes it look so easy.” Harry kicked at the dirt, working out his frustrations.

“Well,” Sirius reasoned, “perhaps he’s practised more.”

“No, that’s not it. I’m sure he would have said something if it had been just as hard for him at first.”

Harry carried the portrait until they reached the edge of the pond, then leaned it up against a tree. He picked up a rock and threw it into the water. _Splash_. He did the same with another. It was a familiar action and brought comfort.

“Something else is bothering you as well?” Sirius asked. Harry turned to face his godfather but remained silent. Sirius raised his eyebrows expectantly. They continued to stare at one another until Harry realised the futility of having a staring contest with a painting. Sirius probably never needed to blink.

“Yes,” Harry finally grunted. His magic crackled, the hairs on the back of his arm stood on end, and he took a deep breath, willing himself to stay calm.

“Well, out with it.”

“I feel like I’m of no use to Draco. My magic doesn’t work properly. He constantly steps in when I can’t even perform the most basic spells. It’s embarrassing really.” Harry picked up another rock but didn’t throw it. Instead, he flipped it over in his hand and ran his thumb over the smooth surface.

“Have you ever thought that maybe he doesn’t care about any of that? Maybe he just wants you. Isn’t it enough to just be together?”

Harry looked down at Sirius. “It’s different. Back at the Dursleys, I wasn’t allowed to use magic. Now, I can’t.” Harry sighed. It wasn’t the only reason. Although there were many key differences, Harry also saw the similarities between Draco and Dudley, how they’d both been given everything they’d ever wanted, and he told Sirius as much. “I watched it happen every time Dudley got something new. In the beginning, it captivated his attention, and he couldn’t get his fill. But the feeling always faded into indifference. The game or toy, or whatever, didn’t captivate his attention like it used to, and was inevitably cast aside.” Harry felt like a possession, a new toy, and didn’t know how long before Draco would do the same to him.

Sirius eyed Harry with concern. “Harry, that cuff you’re wearing, it’s a priceless family heirloom. You can’t tell me that means nothing. As for everything else, anyone with eyes can see he’s courting you. You need to accept that Draco views you as a person he cares about and not an acquisition. If you’ll trust him, let him into your confidence, I believe that instead of passing into indifference, as you fear, you’ll move on from the, well, _honeymoon phase_ into an actual established relationship. You know, one where you talk to each other, can confide your fears and comfort one another.”

It sounded nice, perfect even, but it also sounded too good to be true. Happy endings just didn’t happen for Harry. All he knew was grief and sorrow.

“That sounds nice. But I don’t think it’s going to happen.” He kicked at a stone.

“I think you two need to talk.”

“I was never much good with talking.” He let the rock fall from his hand and picked up the portrait.

Harry had never had so much loving attention on just him. It was all a bit much. He liked it, for sure, but it just didn’t feel sustainable. Good things didn’t last. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. Constantly on edge, waiting for the moment it all went to pieces, knowing that when Draco was done with him, he’d be all alone.

No, that wasn’t true.

At least he’d still have a portrait to talk to.

***

Narcissa removed all traces of Draco from around the Manor: every last hair, drop of blood and skin cell. Well, perhaps not all. She knew it was dangerous, but she couldn’t help herself. Draco was her only son; she couldn’t bring herself to eradicate him entirely. When it became clear she’d have to send him away, she’d crept into his room at night and took a lock of his perfect, platinum hair while he slept. She’d saved a drop of blood from the wounds inflicted by Lucius — she had yet to forgive her husband. 

Her amulet, a dark green opal carved into a dragon and set in platinum, had been a gift from Lucius given the day they found out she was carrying a boy and hadn’t left her body since. It hadn’t been difficult to alter, to create a secret chamber within, one that now contained Draco’s hair, blood and a tiny trace of his magic. No one would suspect. Hidden in plain sight was always best. Exceptionally skilled in Occlumency, she allowed herself this one little thing. There was a practical purpose for the amulet as well.

The Dark Arts had a bad reputation. It was true they could be, and often were, used for great evil. But they could also be incredibly useful. She stood in the seclusion of her bathroom, beside the muted grey and pink Victorian rose tiles, and the crystal vase filled with white roses from the garden. Mid-air she conjured an orb, the exterior glassy, and whispered the incantation to fill the contained space with ether. Narcissa removed her amulet and let it slip through her fingers. It passed through the permeable exterior, slipped into the centre of the orb and remained suspended within the swirling ether. _Secare_ , she cast, and blood welled to the surface through the gash on her palm. She raised her hand and let three drops fall into the shimmery ether. Blood of the Mother. Blood of the Son. A connection made.

Narcissa took a deep breath. _Aspecto_ , she whispered. She relaxed her eyes and let the images come forth, reflected off the shiny surface of the orb. Draco and Harry were chest-deep in water; steam rose and billowed around them. They sat close to one another, eyes locked, deep in conversation. Young love. Her heart swelled with the knowledge that they were together and had each other. But a part of her ached as well, and she wished she could keep Draco close by. But this was good for him. She would learn to let go, a little more each day.

When Draco pulled Harry onto his lap and kissed him, she averted her gaze. There were some things a mother didn’t need to see.

She couldn’t help but smile and remember when she and Lucius had been young, not much older than Draco was now. One warm spring afternoon, Lucius had procured a picnic basket from the Hogwarts kitchen elves, filled with all the best things. He’d taken her, blindfolded, to a beautiful meadow deep within the Forbidden Forest. They’d fed each other, savoured a bottle of elven wine, and made love in the shadows under the trees. Although it was pureblood custom to wait until their wedding night, once betrothed, they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. She’d always known she would have an arranged marriage, determined by bloodline and status, but she never dreamed she’d be matched with someone as attractive and compatible as Lucius. It could have been much worse; she had been lucky.

Of course, the Dark Lord had come along and cast a shadow over her happiness. But she hoped, if she played her hand well, she just might get through this with her son unharmed and her marriage intact. Her sister, on the other hand, made her own choices long ago. There was no love lost in Narcissa’s heart. But appearances had to be maintained and Narcissa was nothing but an excellent actress.

She Vanished the orb, the ether contained within, and returned the amulet to her neck, satisfied that her son was happy and well. She had a party to plan. A ceremony at the Manor. Someone else was to take the Dark Mark in Draco’s place.

***

The water was perfect. Hot, but not unpleasantly so, and steam billowed around them, a thermal caress. Harry sat on a submerged rock and sighed as his tense muscles relaxed.

“Why didn’t we do this earlier,” he said, not expecting an answer. But really, he should have known better than to present an opportunity.

“Because you prefer condemned shacks with grimy bathtubs?”

Harry snorted. “It was one time. Are you ever going to let that go?”

“Never. Come here,” Draco said and pulled Harry onto his lap, so his back was pressed flush with Draco’s chest. Draco kissed him gently, then sucked a bruise into his neck, right at the junction where it met his shoulder. Harry’s lips parted and he moaned, it hurt so good. As Harry leaned back, he could feel Draco’s cock harden and push against his arse. Harry ground back against him, thrilled when Draco’s breath hitched. Draco mouthed kisses along Harry’s jaw while he reached around to stroke his cock. Harry slowly rocked against Draco, who tilted his head and began to nip at the tender spot behind Harry’s ear. As the strokes became firmer, thumb swirling over the top every few strokes, Harry thrust forward, pushing further into Draco’s fist, and as he slid backwards, the head of Draco’s cock grazed his hole. Harry groaned at the sensory overload. Draco took this as a sign of encouragement and slipped his other hand between them, skirting his finger over Harry’s rim. He didn’t try to push inside, just gently massaged the rim, and Harry knew it wasn’t a demand. It was more a suggestion; a possibility. Harry was curious. He wondered what it would feel like to have Draco open him up and push into him. But he wasn’t sure he was ready. Not yet. Not when everything was so confusing between them. Harry tensed, and Draco withdrew his hand immediately.

“It’s okay,” Draco soothed. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. For the record, I am interested. But not until you’re ready.”

Draco grabbed Harry’s hips and turned him, so they faced each other. He leaned closer and kissed Harry slowly, deeply, as he stroked their cocks together under the water.

Harry pulled back to catch his breath.

“Have you ever done it before?” Harry wasn’t exactly sure how to go about talking about this, so he just charged on in, like a bloody Gryffindor. He inhaled sharply as Draco did something particularly delicious to him beneath the water.

Draco smirked, then bit his lip. “Yes. I don’t know what went on in the Gryffindor tower, but things tended to get a bit handsy down in the Slytherin dorms. You know, stress relief…nightmares…entertainment.” Something must have flashed across Harry’s face because Draco rolled his eyes and pulled Harry closer. “You know, it doesn’t always have to mean something. Sometimes it can be just for fun. Pleasure. Comfort.”

He kissed Harry and continued his ministrations beneath the water. “This is fun, isn’t it?” Draco said, then licked and gently nipped Harry’s earlobe. Harry gasped despite himself. It was a strange sensation, and Harry didn’t understand how his body could react positively to the pleasure while at the same time his heart cracked further open with each word spoken. All his fears were coming true. Was that all he was? Fun? Entertainment? For how much longer?

Despite the warmth of the hot springs, Draco’s proximity and their undeniable chemistry, Harry felt incredibly lonely and chilled to the bone.

***

When Draco thought of the hot springs, he’d envisioned romance and relaxation. But something had gone horribly wrong. Following their swim, Harry became quiet and withdrawn. Their conversation was stilted and short, and he wouldn’t meet Draco’s eyes for very long. Had he pushed Harry too far? Moved too fast? Given everything they’d done already, he didn’t think so. But he must have done something wrong.

They were supposed to spend the next few days by the hot springs, but Draco wanted nothing more than to get as far away as possible, as though a change in scenery would reset the mood. With Bilby’s help, they Apparated the camp to a beautiful spot by the Forest of Dean.

Dinner was lovely. Bilby had outdone herself with fire-roasted pheasant, shallots, springs of thyme, rice, peas, and wild mushrooms. For dessert, they had a lovely selection of decadent, melt-in-your-mouth, dark Belgian chocolates, and Bilby hadn’t batted an eyelash when Draco selected a bottle of vintage port. Even she could appreciate how nicely it paired with the rich chocolate. However, the meal did not lift Harry’s spirits as intended. Wine was supposed to be fortifying, so shouldn’t fortified spirits be doubly so? After dinner, they went for a stroll, walking side by side, and although their fingers brushed, neither made a move to hold hands.

“You should just talk to him,” Sirius said firmly. He stood tall, with his hands in his pockets, and Draco felt like he was under examination.

He sneered at the portrait. “And say what, exactly? _You’re acting really weird, more so than usual, and it’s freaking me out?_ ” Draco flung his hands in the air, exasperated, and began to pace. “Brilliant, why didn’t I think of that? Sirius, forcing people to talk when they clearly don’t want to never works. You think he’s just going to open up and tell me what’s wrong?”

Sirius looked at Draco and the force of his gaze made him uneasy. But the kind smile that followed was even worse. “Sometimes you need to do the things that are uncomfortable. Talking does help. The two of you can’t keep dancing around your feelings forever, it’s not healthy.”

“Who says there are feelings?” Draco stubbornly insisted, in sharp contrast to his recent confession.

Sirius made an exasperated sigh, folded his arms across his chest, and leaned back against the arm of the fainting couch. “The two of you were made for each other. You’re both exceptionally stubborn and – ”

Enough. Draco drew his wand and aimed it at Sirius. “Watch it, or I’ll banish you to the bottom of my trunk and cast a heavy Silencing Charm.”

Sirius raised his arms in surrender. “I’m just saying the two of you are good for each other. I can see it. I know something is wrong and you need to fix it. Harry isn’t exactly good with subtlety; a bit slow on the uptake, my godson. You need to tell him how you feel. Make things crystal clear.”

Draco swallowed. “What if he doesn’t feel the same way?”

“Draco,” Sirius sighed, “he left everything behind, turned his back on the Order, to go on the run with you. That speaks volumes.”

Draco worried his bottom lip. “Sometimes, I just think I was the better option. You didn’t see where he lived, how they treated him, did you?”

Sirius deflated. “No. I suspected, but he wouldn’t tell me.”

“You never saw the bruises then? It still makes me so angry that Dumbledore forced him to stay there.” Draco’s nostrils flared.

“I know you don’t want to hear this,” Sirius’ voice was calm. “I may disagree with Dumbledore’s methods, but he always has a reason for the things he does. It may seem cruel, but there would have been a reason.”

Draco sighed.

“Look, all I know is I see both of you and you make each other happy. Keeping quiet only leads to complications and misunderstandings. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about. Please promise me that you’ll speak to him. Tell him how you feel.”

Draco crossed his arms. “I’ll think about it.”

Draco thought about it and decided to sleep on it. Sometimes, when a potion wasn’t quite right, if you gave it more time to stew and integrate, then everything came out all right and no further action was required. If things still weren’t right with Harry in the morning, then they would talk.

But in the morning, Harry was gone.


	4. The Heaviness of Dark Magic

Harry moved as quickly and quietly as he could in the dim early morning light. There was no point to risk a _Lumos_ ; with his luck, he would set the whole tent on fire. Harry didn’t need much, only what would fit into his small bag. He intended to be gone before Draco woke up.

“You’re making a big mistake,” Sirius said in a harsh whisper.

“I don’t think I am.” Harry gave the portrait a quick glance and continued to stuff items haphazardly into his bag.

“Slinking away in the wee hours? That’s more of a Slytherin thing to do. What happened to my brave Gryffindor?”

Harry shrugged. “I was almost sorted into Slytherin.”

“Slow down, let’s talk about this.” Sirius paced impatiently in his portrait. “You’re always so hot-headed. Just like James.” Harry flashed him a dark look and Sirius at least had the decency to look sheepish. “Just like me.” Sirius gave him a firm stare. “Don’t leave, Harry. Talk to Draco instead.”

Harry sighed and looked away. He folded the letter. It hadn’t taken long to write; an endless cycle of thoughts kept him awake late into the night. The words floated around in his head and Harry rolled them over his tongue to find the right ones. When morning came, he’d known exactly what to say.

“What’s the point? I know what he’s going to say. It’s better this way.” Harry slipped off the Furtivus Cuff — he flexed his wrist and revelled in the sensation of freedom — and placed it on top of his letter on Draco’s bedside table.

“Just talk to him,” Sirius hissed through clenched teeth.

“You think I didn’t notice how far apart the Leo and Draco constellations were last night?” Harry whispered. It was the first thing he noted when they got into bed. That, and how Draco didn’t try to spoon him as he’d gotten into the habit of doing. “He doesn’t want me anymore. He’s already growing tired of me. I can tell. I won’t wait around to be discarded.”

Sirius furrowed his brow. “Did it ever occur to you that perhaps he was just giving you space? That maybe he’s frightened too?”

“Draco? Frightened? He knows what he wants and I’m not it. I can tell. He wouldn’t even hold my hand when we went for a walk last night.” Harry looked down and quietly said, “It’s just easier this way. For both of us.”

Dressed in his emerald travelling cloak, Narcissa’s gift, Harry picked up his bag, tucked Sirius’ portrait under his arm and turned to leave.

“Draco!”

Harry covered Sirius’ mouth, muffling any further shouts, and ran from the tent as fast as he could. When he’d made it to the forest’s edge, he marvelled at how easily he’d slipped away. But if Draco really wanted him gone, then he had no reason to stop him. So, Harry ran.

Deeper into the forest he went. He dodged trees and tried to put as much distance between himself and their camp as quickly as possible. All the while, Sirius made muffled protests into his armpit. Harry’s chest felt constricted and he trembled as he ran. He ignored Sirius’ continuous muffled shouts that he was making a big mistake, and _something_ about _something_ he didn’t know. It took all of Harry’s attention to maintain speed and avoid trees. It had rained sometime during the night; the forest floor was muddy and slick. Just as Harry thought to be careful, he slipped, and Sirius’ portrait flew out from under his arm. Reflexively, he cast a Cushioning Charm.

The spell worked perfectly, and the painting landed unharmed. Harry remained perfectly still, amazed at the perfect and controlled use of his magic. Draco would have been impressed. His stomach clenched and he shoved aside all thoughts of Draco.

Harry crawled closer to the portrait, and, as he met his godfather’s eyes, he realised what he had done. Used magic. Without the Furtivus Cuff to keep it hidden and untraceable. He had unwittingly broadcast his location to those who were looking for him. _Harry Potter is right here._

While it was a huge relief to have his magic work properly, the lack of accompanying fire brilliant, it came with a price. Loud _cracks_ came in quick succession. Harry froze while the forest flooded with an overwhelming and unfortunately familiar heaviness. Dark Magic.

“Don’t worry about me. Save yourself,” Sirius growled.

Harry took a chance. He tapped the portrait to shrink it, shoved it into his pocket, and ran. _Footprints_. They would give him away. Harry’s lungs burned but he doubled back, crossed down into the creek bed and ran along its length, his trail concealed by the water. It was loud, running in the water, but he couldn’t risk a Silencing Charm. He didn’t dare continue like this for too long, with loud splashes emphasising every his every step. With the cacophony of voices and pounding footsteps closing in on him, Harry climbed a log that crosscut the creek. It was hollow at the end, so he stashed his bag inside and ferns concealed the opening. Harry jumped and scrambled into a nearby tree. The branch he stood on snapped just as he grabbed onto the next one up. He struggled, but with great effort, he hauled himself up. He climbed higher and higher and finally settled on a branch, shaking with fear. He pulled the invisibility cloak on over top of his travelling cloak, wrapped it tightly around him, and waited.

***

Draco blinked slowly and stared up at the enchanted canopy. Cassiopeia gave him a saucy wink and returned to her mirror gazing. He could have sworn he’d heard someone call his name. It must have been a dream. He decided a little more sleep wouldn’t be amiss. Draco turned onto his side, and, out of habit, reached out an arm to pull Harry closer. But the bed was empty; Harry’s side had grown cold. It was unusual because Harry normally slept in longer than Draco. He rolled over to grab his wand and froze when he saw Harry’s Furtivus Cuff on top of a folded piece of paper.

“Bilby!” he shouted as he unfolded the note. Vaguely aware of the elf appearing at his side, laden with shopping bags, he sped through the letter, only taking in random words and phrases.

_…better off without me…_

_…you don’t need to say it…_

_…we both know it’s better this way…_

The letter made no sense at all. Out of everything Harry might have said, his letter touched on none of Draco’s fears. Harry hadn’t come to realise that Draco didn’t deserve him. There was no mention of choosing Granger and Weasley, of returning to the Light Side. Draco looked up, his hands trembled, and Bilby eyed him with concern.

“He’s gone.” Hearing his own voice say the words made them worse.

Loud _cracks_ sounded in the distance. Draco and Bilby both Apparated outside the tent. Draco could feel the heaviness of Dark Magic nearby. He’d spent enough time in the Manor to recognise its pull. _Death Eaters._

“I have to get to him,” Draco said, his voice hoarse. “They’ll kill him.”

Bilby placed a firm hand on Draco’s forearm. “Master will stay here, safe within the wards.” She snapped her fingers, and the Furtivus Cuff appeared in her hand. “Bilby will go and get Master Harry.” Then she was gone.

There were more _cracks_ nearby, and with each additional _crack_ , Draco’s stomach churned, and his heart pounded wildly. He lasted all of thirty seconds before he said, “Fuck this,” and cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself. He shivered as the dripping egg sensation travelled down his spine. Draco set off into the forest in the direction of the darkest magic. The dark always sought out the light. They would lead him right to Harry.

***

Harry trembled as he perched carefully on the branch and willed his heart to slow down, certain it was beating so loud — thudding like thunder in his ears — it would give him away. A crow cawed in the distance. Harry froze. Three Death Eaters gathered beneath his tree, anonymous with their hoods up and masks on. Harry would have recognised Lucius Malfoy’s striking platinum hair if he had been among them. He tried hard not to breathe and to remain perfectly still. His muscles ached.

“I’m certain he went this way.” A gruff voice filtered up through the branches.

“Clearly not. It’s another dead end. We’re wasting time,” another hissed.

“Maybe he Apparated away?”

“Lucius would know if he had. He’s got to be around here somewhere,” the gruff voice continued. “Avery, you go that way. Rookwood, you check over there.”

The two took off in their assigned directions, but the third Death Eater remained.

Several things happened all at once; a confluence of events. The Death Eater with the gruff voice began to look up, scanning the branches one by one. Harry was certain he was done for, that not even the invisibility cloak would save him this time. Mad-Eye could always see through it. Was there a Dark Arts spell that allowed Death Eaters to do the same? It would be just Harry’s luck. He fought the urge to flee. Muscles tense, he gripped the branch so hard his knuckles turned white. He shifted and noticed that Sirius’ portrait stuck out precariously from his pocket, jostled in the climb.

As the Death Eater scanned higher up the tree, a disturbance rippled the air beside Harry. Bilby, in the blink of an eye, materialised beside him and snapped the Furtivus Cuff on his wrist. It tingled and for a moment he felt resentful, as though he was a prisoner being shackled and brought back to a dungeon cell. The Death Eater’s eyes were almost upon his branch.

Harry shifted, and Sirius’ portrait came loose. Harry reached out quickly, his fingers brushed the frame, but, with a silent scream trapped in Harry’s throat, Sirius fell. For the briefest of moments, just out of reach, their eyes locked. But then Harry’s insides were yanked together, and everything went black. Bilby had Apparated them away.

They landed beside the tent. _Sirius._ Harry’s legs were like jelly and his heart ached. But before he could get his bearings, Bilby cursed. Harry’s attention snapped to the elf. She’d never lost her cool before. Soon he knew why: Draco was gone. She grabbed his arm, forcefully, muttered something about not being able to trust him to stay put, and Disapparated.

They re-appeared deep within the forest. A wave of nausea hit Harry from the multiple quick Apparitions. He stumbled as Bilby pushed him back against something pointy, yet soft. The _something_ grunted lightly, put arms around Harry and held him close. Draco. Harry wanted to push him off, to run and find Sirius, but Bilby gave him the darkest glare he’d ever seen, and he remained in place. She put her finger to her lips and drew upon her magic to cast a heavy Disillusionment Charm on the three of them, her brow furrowed in concentration. Harry could see Draco’s arms now that they were all Disillusioned with the same spell. Backed up against a tree, pressed together, back to chest, the boys froze when Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange came into view — and might have walked into them if not for whatever spell Bilby had cast.

At first, the Death Eaters’ lips moved but Harry could hear no sound above the hum of Bilby’s magic. But Bilby, constantly muttering spells, made a change and suddenly he could hear their voices, muted and far away, as though travelling through a tunnel.

“He’s here. I can feel it. Potter’s been in this forest,” Bellatrix stated. She stared right at Harry, right through him, her eyes dark and hypnotic, and rage pulsed through Harry’s veins. His magic crackled. He could kill Bellatrix and Lucius, right now. For Sirius. For Draco. A vision of Draco’s scars, once angry and red, now silvery-white, flashed through his head. The only problem was he didn’t know what would come out of his wand. Flames, for once, would be perfect. Harry imagined their charred bodies. But it was equally likely he would cast, and nothing would happen at all. Draco stroked Harry’s arm, a calming influence, reining in Harry’s torrent of magic and emotions. The crackling subsided. Harry knew he couldn’t risk it. Not when the forest was filled with Death Eaters. Not when Bilby was working so hard to keep them safe. Harry leaned back, suddenly grateful for the reassuring press of Draco’s body against his.

“He’s careless,” Lucius replied. “Reckless, like his parents. Like his godfather.” Draco squeezed Harry gently, as though warning him not to react no matter what was said about his family. “He’ll slip up again and we’ll find him.”

Lucius stepped closer and his hair ghosted across Harry’s cheek. Harry shuddered, because the touch was unexpected, and for the insane reason that Lucius’ hair felt exactly like Draco’s when it slid across his bare skin. The resemblance was disturbing. Harry looked down at Bilby, her face, scrunched up in intense concentration, as she silently cast every spell necessary to keep them hidden. If they got through this, Harry vowed to help Hermione get Ministry support for SPEW and to make a sizeable donation himself.

“I want to finish this,” Lucius’ voice was cold and determined. “We need to find him today so I can get back to looking for my son.”

Bellatrix sighed, twisted her hair around one finger. “I don’t know why you bother with your futile little search. He’s already been replaced.”

“Because he’s my son,” Lucius stated, each word clipped, as though it ought to be obvious.

“Oh Lucius, you’re just mad he defied you. But I wouldn’t bother. Honestly, he wasn’t cut out to be a Death Eater. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.” She raised one eyebrow and smirked, as though she were sharing a salacious secret. “He’s more the…fairer kind. It’s better this way, don’t you think? The Dark Lord would have eaten him for supper, and if he didn’t, then Greyback would have.”

Lucius’ nostrils flared. He scowled and appeared to bite back words. Harry squeezed Draco’s arm; it was his turn to offer support.

“I wonder,” Bellatrix mused. “Wouldn’t it be magnificent if Potter and Draco have joined forces? They’d be a vision. The Prodigal Son and the Chosen One, evading the Dark Lord together.”

Lucius looked scandalised. “He’d never…” he stammered.

Bellatrix winked at him and gave him a satisfied grin. Her face grew serious. “Regardless, we need to find Potter. We failed to retrieve the Prophecy. We can’t fail with this too, not when Potter’s willingly left the protection of his home and offered himself up so readily.”

“We won’t fail.” Lucius’ voice was cold. Direct.

“We’ve got something,” a voice called in the distance.

They nodded to one another and hurried off.

Harry and Draco did not move after Lucius and Bellatrix’s departure. They heard loud _cracks_ in the distance as one by one the Death Eaters Disapparated. Still, they remained in place, unsure if they were really all gone or if they would return. Eventually, Bilby held up her hand as though she could read the forest through her outstretched palm.

“The bad people are gone.” Her pallor had a greenish tinge and her hands trembled; her magic greatly depleted. She’d kept them safe with every ounce of her strength and Harry could not even begin to express his gratitude.

“Bilby needs rest.” She glared at Draco and then at Harry, who instantly felt ashamed. “Bilby trusts you can find your own way back.” Without waiting for an answer, she Disapparated with a loud _pop_ , her magic too depleted for her usual stealth _._

Harry and Draco stood and stared at one another.

“Sirius.” With the danger gone, Harry remembered. He turned on his heel and ran. Draco followed.

Harry stopped by the river.

“It’s gone. Sirius’ portrait is gone.” Harry let out a slow sigh and closed his eyes. In his heart, he knew it would be. _We’ve got something._ But seeing it, knowing it was true, stung harder than expected.

“Are you sure this is the place?”

“Yes.” Harry’s voice came out quiet, but harsh. He saw the broken branch; this was the place. He pulled his bag out from within the log. “They must have taken him.”

Harry slammed his fist into the nearest tree trunk and hissed, angry at how much it hurt, angry at his own stupidity, at how he always lost everything he loved. Draco hesitantly reached for him. Harry flinched and made to move away, but reluctantly allowed himself to be pulled into Draco’s embrace. Numbness started to set in, to chill him from the inside out. Harry sucked in his breath, turned his head to the side, and willed away the tears that threatened to spill while his magic crackled all around them. He took a deep breath, focussed on Draco, his arms, the fresh scent of citrus. Draco was warm. He felt like home. Harry knew he shouldn’t feel that way, that it would only lead to more heartache, but he did.

“Why did you leave me?” Draco rasped. “I know what you wrote in your letter. But I also know that’s a steaming pile of Erumpent shit.” His lips were close to Harry’s ear. “Tell me why. I deserve that much at least.”

Harry kept his arms around Draco, he pressed his head against his shoulder. Maybe he could do this if he didn’t have to look at him, didn’t have to see the look on his face when Draco inevitably rejected him.

“It’s because of what you said the other day. About this not meaning anything and just being for fun and comfort. I can’t keep going, feeling the way I feel, if this is just a bit of light-hearted entertainment for you.”

Harry didn’t want him to, but Draco pulled back and did look him in the eye. Draco’s eyes were red and watery.

“You idiot,” Draco said, and Harry could feel his own anger rising. He was about to protest, to shout that he wasn’t an idiot, but Draco spoke first, softly. “I didn’t mean us. I meant with the others. With Blaise and Theo. It didn’t mean anything with them.” Draco swallowed. With their chests pressed together, Harry could feel Draco’s heart pounding beneath his ribcage almost as forcefully as his own.

Draco looked at Harry, intensely, and Harry was captivated by his shiny, silver eyes. “Just so we’re clear, and there’s no confusion, _this_ , you and me, _us_ , means everything to me. Harry, I love you.”

Harry was unable to move or form words. It was as though he had been caught unexpectedly by a _Petrificus Totalus_. His mind buzzed and replayed Draco’s words. When he could finally speak, he whispered, “I love you too,” and Draco hugged him so hard he could barely breathe. But breathing was overrated anyway.

They arrived back at camp, but they knew they couldn’t stay. Bilby was weak but determined to get a move on. Draco dismantled their camp, made it as small as possible, and they Disapparated. When they landed, Harry felt a faint yet familiar tug of magic and knew they were near Stonehenge. They were far enough away to safely use magic, but close enough that Bilby could draw on the power and recharge.

Draco set up their camp in a field and warded it to the maximum with Notice-Me-Not and Muggle-Repelling Charms.

“I thought you said it was risky to be in Wiltshire,” Harry said.

Draco smirked. “Do you really think the Dark Lord will expect you to come this close to the Manor after the close call earlier today? He’s probably sent my father and Bella to search for you in the Scottish Highlands, or some other faraway place.”

Harry knew everything that had happened today was his fault. They’d almost been captured because he’d been rash and wouldn’t listen to reason. Bilby was weak, her magic depleted, because she’d done everything in her power to keep him safe. Although it was only temporary, Harry felt terribly guilty. They’d built a fire, Draco reinforced it with protective magic to contain it, and Harry heated a kettle over the flames for tea. Before retiring for the evening, he brought Bilby a peace offering: a tray with tea and sandwiches. When he pulled back the flap of her tiny tent, he was gobsmacked. The interior was infinitely larger than expected — comparable to the space he and Draco shared — and filled with everything they could ever need. He shook his head. House-Elf magic. Bilby, reclined on her bed, looked over and gestured for him to come inside. She was still weary but looked better than she had earlier. Harry brought over the tray and Bilby seemed genuinely astonished that a wizard would serve her. For a moment, Harry worried she might punish herself like Dobby was known to do. But Bilby seemed to have a much greater sense of her own self-worth; she allowed it. Harry sat the tray down on a little table beside the bed. She nodded and gave him an impish grin. He smiled; he was forgiven.

Harry laid down in bed and stared up at the night sky. Draco had re-done the enchantments and Harry couldn’t take his eyes off Sirius. He watched the animated star-dog chase a butterfly, then stop to scratch behind his ears before he wagged his tail and resumed his exuberant play. The tears came and this time he couldn’t hold them back; his grief was too great. He allowed himself to be folded into Draco’s arms, his head on Draco’s chest. 

“It’s like losing him all over again,” Harry sobbed. He cleared his throat and continued. “Once again it’s my own fault. I should have listened. I shouldn’t have rushed off without thinking.” It was a bitter pill to swallow. They should have lived together, been a family, but Sirius had been killed. Then, when he’d had a second chance, he’d lost his godfather again. It was an endless cycle of hope and disappointment.

Draco sighed and pulled Harry closer, wrapping him up in his warmth. “I’ll get him back,” he declared. “They’ll have taken him to the Manor. I can Apparate into my room, call Pipsy or Mimsy, and once I have the portrait I’ll come back. As quickly as I can.”

Harry pulled back and wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve. He looked Draco in the eye. “That sounds like a suicide mission. I won’t allow it.” His voice was raw, firm, determined. “Draco, I miss Sirius more than anything, but he’s gone. I won’t lose you too. I couldn’t bear it.”

Draco was silent, but finally said, “Are you sure?”

Harry nodded. He swallowed, then grinned.

“What?” Draco raised an eyebrow.

“Who would have thought? You’re turning into quite the Gryffindor. Coming after me, despite being told to stay put, and with countless Death Eaters swarming nearby. Offering to infiltrate the enemy to rescue a portrait? Are you sure you were sorted into the right house?”

Draco looked horrified. “Fuck off,” he said, but he smiled when he said it. “Potter, you take that back right now.”

Harry laughed. “Bravery looks good on you.”

Draco buried his face in his hands. “Oh Harry, what have you done to me?”

“I like it.” Harry’s heart warmed, looking at the brave, beautiful boy laying with him. 

Draco pulled back his hands and looked at Harry. He pursed his lips before he spoke. “What did Aunt Bella mean when she said they’d failed to retrieve the Prophecy? What was she talking about?”

Harry took a deep breath. “That was the whole reason I ended up in the Department of Mysteries. The Dark Lord wanted a prophecy. About him and me.”

Draco seemed alarmed. “What did it say?”

Harry paused for a moment, considered his response. “It was smashed in the scuffle.”

“Oh,” was all Draco said.

Part of Harry wanted to tell Draco the whole truth. But it didn’t really matter anymore now, did it? It would be a prophecy unfulfilled. How could he possibly kill the Dark Lord when he couldn’t even cast a dependable _Lumos_? No, it was over. Harry and Draco had each other and they were happy. Dumbledore could deal with Voldemort himself.

***

Draco knew something was off. Harry paused before answering the question, as though mulling over his response, choosing between the available answers. Draco was a Malfoy and accordingly was skilled in the art of deception. Maintaining appearances. Draco was certain there was something Harry wasn’t telling him regarding the Prophecy, details omitted. But he didn’t want to push. Harry was back, in his bed, and they were together. It was enough for now. Anything else could be dealt with later.

Draco brushed Harry’s hair out of his eyes. “I know it’s been hard for you,” he began, carefully. “I can only imagine how I would feel if my magic was out of control.” Harry looked at him, searched his eyes as though expecting an insult, waiting for it to come. A month ago, Draco would have given him one. Or two or three. But not now. “I just wish you’d tell me how you feel. Let me help you. I’m sure we can find a way to make the cuff work, to get your magic under control. Together.”

Harry threaded their fingers together and nodded.

“For what it’s worth,” Harry said, “I’m sorry about the things Bellatrix and your father said. They shouldn’t have said them.” He squeezed Draco’s hand. “It’s not true. If it was what you wanted, I’m sure you would have made a fine Death Eater. You always do well at whatever you set your mind to.”

Draco snorted. “Thanks. I think? It’s fine, Harry. Actually, it was exactly what I needed to hear.” He was telling the truth. It had been perfect. If his own family didn’t think he was cut out to be a Death Eater, then maybe he wasn’t. Maybe Sirius had been right. Maybe he had worried all this time for nothing.

***

One of them must have slipped up. Maybe Harry had spoken the Dark Lord’s name? It was the only thing Narcissa could think of that would explain how quickly the Dark Lord’s inner circle had Disapparated. The capture of Harry Potter was a top priority. They’d come back, disgruntled, then set off again and had spent the afternoon scouring the Highlands in wind and rain. But it was a dead end. They hadn’t found Harry. But they must have found something, enough to keep them motivated. Lucius was like a crup with a bone. Once he’d sunk his teeth in, he didn’t give up easily. Narcissa feared it might not be long before the boys were caught. The Dark Lord wanted Harry dead. She knew it was only a matter of time before it would be common knowledge that Draco was irrevocably tied to him. He’d chosen Harry — the enemy — over the Dark Lord himself and she knew the Malfoy name wouldn’t count for enough to spare him.

It was risky. The house was teeming with foul-tempered Death Eaters, but Narcissa had to know. She needed to know they were safe, and where they were. Perhaps, if she knew, she could lead Lucius astray.

In the solitude of her bathroom, Narcissa removed her amulet, conjured the orb, filled with ether. _Secare._ Her blood dripped. More blood; faster, clearer image. _Aspecto_. She had just caught a flash of platinum hair when the wards she’d carefully set chimed inside her head. Footsteps in her bedroom. Her heart fluttered rapidly as she hastily Vanished the orb. She snatched up her amulet and returned it to her neck as Lucius strode through the doorway. He looked at her, then glanced left and right as he took in the room.

“Is everything all right?” he asked.

“Fine, darling,” she replied, projecting a calm and gentle façade completely at odds with her emotions. She forced her heart to regain a slow and steady rhythm, her Occlumency shields at full strength. Lucius grabbed her hand and smeared his thumb through the blood. Their eyes met.

“I broke the vase by accident.” Her eyes flicked over to the crystal vase on the counter. “I fixed it, but I didn’t realise I’d cut myself.”

Narcissa tried to pull her hand away but Lucius held it firmly. He took out his wand and said, “ _Episkey_ ,” as he gently closed the wound. He kissed the newly healed skin, then brushed his lips slowly, softly across her knuckles. Lucius tilted his head to the side as he searched her eyes. He attempted to gain entrance, but she reinforced her inner shields. Legilimency was one of his many skills, but Narcissa had yet to succumb. She certainly wouldn’t allow it now, emotional breakdown or not.

“It’s unlike you to be this clumsy.” His remark was casual but pointed.

“I’m just so worried about Draco. He could be anywhere, and I miss him terribly.” That part was all true.

Lucius nodded and ran his thumb across her freshly healed palm. His touch made her shiver.

“I have a question.” He looked at her palm rather than at her face.

“Yes?” She held her breath, worried about what he might ask. Perhaps she had let something slip? Maybe her nerves had affected her shields after all?

“It’s about something your sister said.” He looked up, pensive.

She looked into his eyes. What could Bella have possibly said?

“Earlier today, she suggested that Draco and the Potter boy may have joined forces against the Dark Lord.” He looked at her, expectantly, awaiting her opinion.

She relaxed. “Don’t be foolish, mon cher, they’re enemies. You’ve heard how Draco goes on about him. He can’t stand the boy. I suspect Bella was just trying to wind you up. Apparently, it worked.”

Draco had spoken ad nauseam about Harry Potter. At every meal. At every opportunity. Although he spoke words of hate, Narcissa had seen right through them. She knew how he truly felt. She had known Harry was the one he was sneaking off to see for two reasons. First, he’d stopped talking about Harry at mealtimes. It was as though a switch had been flipped. Secondly, he’d developed a special smile, and had an energy about him that she’d recognise surrounding anyone in love. Fortunately, Lucius was rarely home and was not so observant.

Lucius exhaled, visibly relieved. “Right, of course. It’s been a…challenging day. The Dark Lord is not pleased. But we do have a lead. We gathered a large sample of Potter’s magic. Soon, we will be able to track him.”

Narcissa forced herself to nod, act accordingly. Had Harry removed the cuff? Why?

“As for Draco, we’ll get him back,” Lucius said, his voice determined, and she knew he wouldn’t let it go. He never did. “I promise you, we will. We’re close. He’ll be home soon, and he’ll know his place. I’ll see to it.”

Narcissa brushed a lock of platinum hair behind Lucius’ ear. “His place. With his family.”

“And with the Dark Lord.”

“Yes,” she said and gazed lovingly into his eyes.

Lucius took her in his arms and kissed her. “We’ll all be together soon.”


	5. Aperture

They had been close. Lucius’ eyes gleamed. He smirked; the corner of his mouth rose to reveal the glint of an incisor. He’d clearly been spending too much time in Greyback’s company. It never ceased to amaze Narcissa how one always took on the traits of the company one kept. Lucius seemed pleased with himself, stalking his prey. The Death Eaters hunted in packs, methodically scouring the countryside, slowly but surely closing in. Did he know that the prey included their son? Would it make any difference? Narcissa wasn’t so sure.

Each day Voldemort’s inner circle ventured out, searching for clues, tracking Harry, and, by extension, Draco. Narcissa wondered if it had been wise to let them go off together. Even she hadn’t foreseen this turn of events. If they were caught, would the results be worse than if Draco had just stayed at the Manor and taken the Dark Mark? 

Many times, they came back empty-handed. But, just as often, they found something. They’d swarmed an ancient grove, similar to the one in which they’d almost captured Harry, and found small traces of his magic all over the ferns. In a wide, open field beside a pond, Harry’s magic clung like a film. It shouldn’t be possible. Narcissa didn’t understand it. Harry’s magic shouldn’t be traceable with the cuff. Unless, of course, it wasn’t working properly. Did the boys know? She suspected they did not. Her stomach twisted at the thought.

The following day, during her afternoon cup of tea, Lucius returned with a grim look on his face. They’d found a sock, crumpled, in the long grass beside a lake. Nearby, they’d found traces of Harry’s magic. Lucius passed Narcissa the sock.

She wrinkled her nose. “What am I meant to do with this grotty thing?” She feigned nonchalance, but her heart raced. She’d recognised the intricately woven fabric at once.

“Turn it over,” came Lucius’ clipped tones.

She did. The sock was monogrammed. _D.L.M._ Curse Lucius and his obsessive need to have every item of their clothing personalised.

“It seems Bella was right,” he said, and his menacing tone made her shiver. She remembered what he’d done to Draco the last time he was enraged.

She swallowed and looked at him, challenged him with a pointed stare. “We don’t know that.”

Lucius scowled. “Harry’s magic was found not ten feet away.”

“All it means is that the boys’ paths crossed at some point in time. For all we know, they fought and parted. Or maybe they happened by the same place, but weeks apart.” She held up Draco’s sock. “This means nothing. Draco’s a good boy. You know how Bellatrix gets. When she’s bored, she likes to cause trouble so she can stand back and watch the fallout. You would be wise, dear husband, to ignore idle gossip.”

Lucius narrowed his eyes and bit back a reply. With a huff, he took his leave. 

Narcissa exhaled and shook her head. Lucius had never been this suspicious before, and she sincerely hoped he accepted her explanation. But she worried about her sister’s meddling; even when moving about in the dark, Bella had an uncanny knack for finding the one kernel of truth. 

Undone by a sock. How could Draco have been so careless? Had she not told him to cover his tracks? Draco was usually so orderly and paid attention to the minutest of details. It’s how he excelled in his studies. What had he been thinking? Well, she supposed, he was young and in love. Most likely he hadn’t been thinking at all. Love could make you careless. Love could make you do foolish things. But, she supposed, she was one to talk.

With an unsteady hand, Narcissa pushed away her teacup. Lately, she hadn’t much appetite and sometimes tea was all she could manage. But today even tea proved too much. She let out a shaky breath. Her marriage grew more strained with each day that passed. Ordinarily, Lucius came to her for advice. But increasingly, he sought his counsel elsewhere. Her sister, unfortunately, often had his ear. Her marriage, once carefree, seemed irrevocably compressed under the unbearable weight of the Dark Lord’s presence, Bella’s meddling, and Draco’s absence. What would become of her and Lucius after all was said and done? Circe only knew.

It was easy to think back to earlier days and feel the love from their youth. Once, it had been so simple and easy. But each new day brought her further away from those carefree moments. It became harder to forget and forgive the things Lucius had done. Was still doing. Her husband had changed.

Narcissa’s priority always had been, and always would be, Draco. For now, that meant keeping up appearances — she’d taken to using Nutritional Potions and Glamours to hide the effects of her inability to eat — and making nice with Lucius and Bella so she could monitor the situation from the inside.

Narcissa stood and smoothed out her robes. She decided a walk around the grounds would clear her head and, perhaps, settle her stomach. She prayed she wouldn’t run into any remains from Nagini’s mealtime. That would not do any favours for her constitution.

***

In the week following their close call in the Forest of Dean, Harry, Draco, and Bilby changed location daily, afraid to linger overlong. Draco was sure his father, and the Dark Lord, wouldn’t let this go. They’d come so close to getting what they wanted: Harry. 

Harry and Draco grew closer, confided in one another, and played countless Seekers’ games, Disillusioned, so they were invisible to the Muggles sometimes seen in the distance. They also discovered something important. While Harry’s magic was still unpredictable with the cuff, coming out in wild torrents or not at all, when they held hands — Harry’s right and Draco’s left; their wand hands — Harry’s magic was reasonably well controlled. Not perfect, but a definite improvement.

“How do I know it’s working? That it’s not just you?” Harry asked, panting. He’d just completed three circuits of exercises followed by a series of casting drills. Draco found Harry’s magic to be more controlled after he had exerted himself, as though exercise took the edge off.

“Because, darling, I’m not casting. I’m not doing anything. I feel your magic. It’s all you.” Draco felt breathless too, but for different reasons. Harry’s magic had always been electric, and Draco had always been drawn to it. But the way it felt as it coursed down his arm, their hands clasped, was intense. Draco shivered, the hairs on the back of his arm stood on end. Sweaty and overwhelmed, he could only think of one thing.

“Fancy a swim?”

Harry nodded.

“Mmmm,” Harry sighed. They were chest deep in what would have been very cold lake water if not for Draco’s Warming Charms. Draco massaged Harry’s scalp with conditioner. He suspected Harry had always skipped this step before. With Draco’s attention, and his Hair Softening Charms, passed down through generations of Malfoys, Harry’s hair turned out shinier and more manageable than before.

After rinsing out the conditioner, Draco ran his hand down Harry’s back and cupped the delicious swell of his arse. Harry’s breath hitched and he leaned in for a kiss, which Draco was only too eager to give. When Harry pulled away, he gave Draco an intense stare as he guided Draco’s hand into his cleft. Draco felt a surge of excitement flow through him as his fingers brushed against Harry’s tight pucker. 

“You remember what we started earlier?” Harry said, voice low, and Draco’s mind instantly flashed back to the hot springs.

“Mmm,” he replied and kissed Harry’s chin, neck, and the soft area behind his ear. Harry’s erection pushed against Draco’s thigh.

“I think I want to do that. Go further this time.”

Draco pulled back but kept Harry in his arms. “You want to? Or you _think_ you want to?” He looked Harry in the eye and watched the internal dialogue play out on his face. Harry worried his lip with his teeth. Not waiting for Harry to respond, Draco kissed him and said, “We should wait.”

Harry looked equal parts disappointed and relieved, and Draco felt reassured in his decision. There was nothing he wanted more, but he wanted it to be right. For them both.

“You know I want you,” he told Harry as he smoothed down his hair, “but I want you to be sure. I know how you feel, but we don’t have to rush. There are plenty of other good things we can do.” He leaned forward, sucked Harry’s bottom lip into his mouth and took Harry’s cock in hand. Harry whimpered as Draco pulled upward. As Draco deepened the kiss, Harry’s hand wrapped around Draco’s cock and gave him a stroke so firm it was just this side of painful, but felt _so damned good_. He knew Harry wanted him, desired him, and the feeling was very much mutual. With their bodies pressed together, their hands knocked and brushed as they stroked one another. As they got close, their kissing became less like kissing and more like a long, drawn-out gasp. Harry came first. His grasp slackened more than Draco would have liked, but he loved the way Harry shook as he continued to stroke and draw out his orgasm. When Harry regained enough composure, he redoubled his efforts and soon Draco was the one to gasp, falling limp as Harry held him up. The good thing about getting off in a lake was the lack of clean-up required.

Later, they relaxed in front of a campfire while Bilby prepared their dinner. Harry held his Muggle firebox in one hand. 

“It’s called a _lighter_ ,” he reminded Draco, green eyes sparkling in the firelight. “The thing about Muggle items,” Harry explained, “is that you don’t have to use the prefix ‘Muggle’ to describe them. You can just say _lighter_. Not _Muggle lighter_.”

“I see, but how do I differentiate between what’s Muggle and what’s not?”

“Do wizards have lighters and telephones?”

“No.”

“There you go. Calling everything _Muggle_ is as ridiculous as using the word Wizard all the time. Like, here’s my Wizard’s wand, my Wizard’s spellbook, my Wizard Cauldron.”

Harry did have a point.

Draco found Muggle culture interesting, limited at times, but he was equally surprised when it surpassed wizarding tradition. Hoodies, as it turned out, were more comfortable than formalwear and robes. Harry had to ask Bilby to buy more when she did their shopping as Draco kept stealing his.

“What?” Draco said in defence. “They’re comfortable.”

***

Lucius paused in the doorway.

“Come in, my love,” Narcissa called out to him. “We haven’t had an evening together in ages.”

As he strode forward, Lucius’ eyes swept over Narcissa’s body and darkened as he gently took her outstretched hand. She wore a silk gown — midnight blue, chosen to accentuate her slate-grey eyes — with lace sleeves and a low crystal-accented décolletage meant to entice. Narcissa knew he wouldn’t be able to resist her, and she was not mistaken.

“Do you feel neglected, ma chérie?” He leaned closer and kissed her cheek. A Veelan waltz played on the wireless. Lucius tugged her quickly, and, startled, she stumbled into his arms. He steadied her and confidently led as they danced around the room.

“We’ve just been so busy. Too many things happening at once. It weighs on me,” Narcissa confessed, “Draco’s disappearance” — _Draco’s treachery,_ he reminded her — “and I worry we’ve become lost to one another.”

Lucius dipped her backwards, pressed a gentle kiss to her cleavage. “Then we should find each other again.” He spun her outwards, and back into his arms. He’d always been an amazing dance partner and his movement, the placement of his hands on her body, evoked memories all but forgotten. Despite Narcissa’s misgivings, it thrilled her.

Pipsy Apparated into the room bearing a tray filled with all his favourite things: Goblin wine from their vineyard in Bordeaux, chilled Beluga caviar from the Caspian Sea, peacock eggs — those were especially hard to come by with Nagini devouring their flock — crème fraîche, blinis and sprigs of fresh fennel and thyme.

“Caviar? Goblin wine?” Lucius smirked. “If I didn’t know any better, Narcissa darling, I’d say you planned to seduce me.”

“One would hope that even after all these years you wouldn’t need to be inebriated for that,” she countered with a raised eyebrow.

He chuckled and poured the wine into crystal glasses. They toasted to their health and drank deeply. Lucius continued to lead her around the room, and they danced with lingering hands, breath ghosting over lips, little touches that ignited the flames of desire.

“You’re getting too thin,” he said. She watched his delicate hands, holding the Thestral bone spoon, as he prepared a bite.

“You say that as though it were a bad thing,” she mused and accepted the morsel. When Lucius turned his back to refill their glasses, she Vanished the food. It was a bloody waste of good caviar, and her younger self would have been horrified, but she just couldn’t stomach it.

“Santé,” Lucius said, and passed over her glass. They clinked glasses and the crystal rang out, vibrating in the space between them. 

Narcissa knew he wouldn’t be able to resist the 1925, his favourite vintage, rich and ruby red with notes of black cherry and spice. Her dress, her charm were merely distractions while she plied him with alcohol. She’d taken a time-release Sobering Potion prior to his arrival to ensure she would not become intoxicated herself. She smiled coquettishly while they fed each other caviar — she always found a way to discreetly Vanish her portions — and drank; Narcissa, slowly and with care; Lucius with wild abandon. He didn’t notice when Pipsy replaced the bottle with a fresh one.

With another bottle and more dancing, Lucius’ movements became considerably less refined. He brought her wrist to his mouth, missing on the first attempt but succeeding on the second, and kissed it, a little messily, but the intention was clear. She’d not let him touch her, not since the nasty lashing incident, but tonight she would allow it. Her plan depended on it. Narcissa followed him through to the bedroom. Giddy, like a teenager, Lucius climbed up onto the elevated bed and pulled her up with him. He flopped onto his back and his hair, loosened from his plait, fanned out against the pillow. Narcissa straddled him, her dress bunched up around her waist. He looked up, and she couldn’t tell if he was seeing her or seeing right through her, the wine having had the intended effect.

While Narcissa excelled in Occlumency, her Legilimency skills left something to be desired. Bella could enter minds undetected, but Narcissa always left a trace, a little something of her own magic that lingered and let the person know she’d been there. She wouldn’t dare try this with Lucius unless he was sufficiently sauced. Constantly at the Dark Lord’s disposal, he’d been forced to remain sober as of late. The obligatory abstinence made him both irritable and insane; she could find no other excuse for what he had done to their son.

But, sufficiently pliant under the spell of fermented grapes and Goblin magic, Narcissa gazed into his steel-grey eyes under the guise of an adoring lover. She probed deeper under his shields, gently diving behind his lax layer of protection, to his most recent memories of Draco. What she saw chilled her to her core, but she couldn’t let it show. She pulled back, gently, easing her way out like a lover’s caress, and bent forward to press a kiss to Lucius’ mouth, just in case he had any doubts about her intentions. She met with no resistance; his mouth had gone slack. She sat up. He was fast asleep — passed out cold. It was just as well. After what she’d seen, it would have been the performance of a lifetime to continue her seduction.

The Death Eaters had been close on their trail a handful of times; this much she had already known. She’d feared they were closing in, but it was worse than she thought: this morning they’d arrived just in time to see the boys Apparate away with Bilby. Lucius had seen Draco and Harry, together. Now he knew. Thank Circe they hadn’t been holding hands or kissing. For now, all he knew was that they had joined forces and run away together. He didn’t know the extent of their relationship. But it was only a matter of time. Something had to be done. She pursed her lips, then exhaled. There was really only one thing she could do. She carefully rolled off Lucius and patted down her dress. After a moment, she took off his shoes, used a Levitation Charm so she could pull back the duvet beneath him, and tucked him in for the night. Narcissa looked at the clock. It was late, but she had someone to call on. This couldn’t wait.

***

No owls came. No post. Draco had not exaggerated when he said his wards were excellent. Between the Furtivus Cuffs and Draco’s spellwork, they were untraceable. Harry couldn’t help but wonder how Ron and Hermione were getting on in Australia and if they’d tried to write. Had the rest of the Weasleys discovered the secret he’d asked Fred and George to keep? He missed his friends. He missed Hedwig. But he loved being with Draco and away from Privet Drive. Harry felt safe and he’d begun to relax in a way he never could with the weight of being the Chosen One on his shoulders. They’d moved daily since the Forest of Dean but hadn’t seen a Death Eater since. Perhaps they could slow down a bit?

It was late morning. After a leisurely brunch, they reclined on the couch. Peacefully, Harry watched the clouds drift in the sky, his head in Draco’s lap, while Draco carded his fingers through Harry’s hair.

“What are the ingredients in a Calming Draught?”

Despite Harry’s initial reluctance, Draco had taken to quizzing him in a variety of subjects. Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, History of Magic and general English vocabulary. It was both annoying and endearing.

“Erm,” Harry began, “Unicorn Hair? Mint? Bilberry Root?”

Draco sighed and Harry could practically hear his eye-roll. “Are you even trying?” He’d stopped stroking Harry’s hair, so Harry wriggled further into Draco’s lap. Draco chuckled and resumed the motions. “It’s important you learn this. It’s not even OWL level. Do try to pay attention, Potter.”

Harry grimaced. “I’m rubbish at Potions, you know that.” He ran his hand along Draco’s thigh. “You sound just like Hermione.”

Draco snorted. “Well, I certainly hope you don’t study like this with Granger.”

Harry looked up at Draco, “Definitely not.”

“Weasley?” Draco asked, innocently.

“You’re horrible.” Harry pinched Draco’s arm, and, when Draco tried to push him off, he mercilessly went for all of Draco’s ticklish spots.

They’d called a truce and had resumed their positions when a bird flew towards them. Initially, they paid it no heed and Draco continued to quiz Harry. But, when it didn’t change course and wasn’t affected by the wards, Draco tapped Harry’s shoulder and he sat up.

“That’s impossible,” Draco said. “I set those wards myself. They’re impenetrable.”

The bird didn’t seem to care. It was a strange bird, crimson, and it sang rather than squawked as it flew lower.

“Fawkes?” Harry asked in disbelief. The last time he’d seen the bird (at the time tiny and featherless), he’d destroyed half of Dumbledore’s office.

The majestic phoenix perched on the end of their couch and held out his leg; there was a roll of parchment attached. Harry reached out and unfastened it. As he unrolled the scroll, Draco grew tense beside him.

“Harry, we have to go.” Draco’s voice was low and urgent.

“Why? I want to read this first.” The writing was thin and slanted: Dumbledore’s. Harry wondered what he could possibly have to say.

Draco squeezed Harry’s shoulder, a little more firmly than was pleasant — _Ouch_ , Harry muttered — but Harry continued to read with mixed emotions.

“Read it later,” Draco hissed. “We have to leave _now_. While you’re distracted reading that…” — he grew increasingly flustered — “if Fawkes can get to us then that means – ”

But Draco didn’t get to finish his train of thought because there was a loud _crack_ and suddenly Dumbledore stood before them. His half-moon spectacles reflected his eyes, earnest and all-knowing. He wore a violet travelling cloak, and his waist-length silver hair and beard were well-groomed. Harry’s eyes were instantly drawn to his right hand — blackened and shrivelled — and despite his shock at the man’s sudden arrival he said, “Sir, what happened to your – ”

“Never mind that Harry, it’s a tale for another time,” Dumbledore replied, and with a flick of his wand he conjured a chair, emerald green, accented with sinuous lines of mahogany. It matched their couch perfectly. He sat down and gestured for Harry and Draco to follow suit. Dumbledore eyed them both thoroughly, then settled his eyes on Harry. “How have you been? During the time in between when we last spoke and now?”

Harry ignored the question and stared at their headmaster. “How did you find us?”

Although the question was directed at Dumbledore, it was Draco who answered.

“Fawkes. He was able to find us because magical creatures are unaffected by wards. That letter, which you just _had_ to read, was merely a distraction; a diversion which enabled him enough time to follow.” Draco sighed. “I told you we should have left.” He said the words with great disdain and glared at the old man.

Dumbledore appeared unaffected. He smiled kindly. “That’s most astute of you, Draco. You’ve always been bright. But your theory is only partially true. Fawkes was indeed a diversion, but I can always find Harry. I don’t need a phoenix for that.”

“B-but,” Harry stammered, “the wards… and we’re wearing – ”

“Ah yes, Harry, the Furtivus Cuff has many uses. It will most certainly keep the Ministry from tracing you and detecting underage magic. Unless, of course, you take it off.”

Harry’s eyes widened and his shoulders tightened in response. He really hoped he wasn’t in for another trial in front of the entire Wizengamot. Dumbledore seemed to read the question in his eyes.

“Not to worry, Harry. The Dark Lord isn’t the only one with spies inside the Ministry. After the incident last summer, I had the foresight to place Nymphadora in the Improper Use of Magic office, just in case. It seems I was correct to do so. It’s all been swept under the proverbial rug.” Relieved, Harry exhaled slowly. He didn’t relish the idea of Azkaban.

“So, as I was saying, the cuff will keep the Ministry away, but not me. Wards and magical jewellery have no effect. You see, when I delivered you to the Dursleys all those years ago, I placed a Tracking Charm, a drop of my blood, embedded within your magical core, so that no matter what I’d be able to find you anywhere. You’re extremely important Harry.”

Harry was both gobsmacked and angry. His face tingled, his cheeks flushed; he felt equally violated and outraged. Was he no more than a puppy with a tracking chip? 

“You mean you’ve known where I was this whole time?” Harry couldn’t hide the fury in his voice.

“Why didn’t you come after us then?” Draco added, sounding equally enraged.

Calmly, Dumbledore replied. “It became apparent you needed time to sort things through. I understand that your godfather’s untimely passing can’t have been easy. You clearly weren’t in a place to listen to my thoughts, having left the care of your aunt and uncle despite my explicit instructions to the contrary. I thought, perhaps, in time we could talk rationally. It appears that time has come.”

“Left him in the care of his relatives? _Care_ is not a word I would use. Have you any idea – ”

Dumbledore raised his black, shrivelled hand in the air and Harry couldn’t take his eyes off it. “I’ll stop you there, Draco. I know the situation has been less than ideal.”

“Less than ideal?” he snarled, inching forward in his seat. “They beat him and starved him.”

Dumbledore remained infuriatingly calm. “As I said, the situation was less than ideal. But there is more to it than meets the eye. There are extenuating circumstances that I find I’m not at liberty to discuss with you. I’ll ask that you do me a courtesy and extend the benefit of the doubt.” Dumbledore gave Draco a look that, while not unkind, implied strongly he would not allow the issue to be pressed further at this time.

“Fine,” Draco said, his voice icy cold. But he didn’t remain silent, he merely changed his line of questioning. “If you’ve known where Harry was all along, why didn’t you come when he was almost captured by Death Eaters? What good is tracking him, claiming he’s so important, if you’d let him get killed?” Harry inched closer and pressed his thigh against Draco’s, and Draco pressed back.

Dumbledore took off his spectacles, exhaled into the lenses, and took his time wiping them clean with a handkerchief. “Not to worry, Draco. The Dark Lord wouldn’t have killed Harry. Not right away. He would have played with him first and undoubtedly would have delivered a long-winded speech about how he intended to make him suffer, during which time I would have stepped in. Naturally. But it saved me a considerable amount of effort that you weren’t caught, and we can thank your House-Elf for that. Amazing creatures, aren’t they? So often underestimated and overlooked.” 

Bilby materialised by Draco’s side and glared at the old man. Dumbledore smiled, nodded in her direction, then turned his attention back to Harry. “Now, Harry, it does look as though you’re having some issues with that cuff.”

“How did you know?”

Dumbledore made a flourishing gesture with his arm, the good one. “It’s quite clear to see. But I can solve the problem. If I may?”

Dumbledore looked at Harry and Draco. Draco, still visibly miffed, shrugged. Harry outstretched his arm for Dumbledore’s inspection.

“Just as I suspected,” he announced, as though the issue was painfully obvious. It wasn’t. He pointed his wand at the cuff and slowly ran it along the runic engravings. The metal glowed, but the cuff remained cool, as the runes shifted.

“What did you do?” Draco asked, his interest sounded genuine.

“I’ve simply adjusted the aperture. Harry’s magic is extremely powerful” — Draco nodded in agreement — “and the cuff in its original state wouldn’t allow the magic to flow properly. I can imagine, with the previous alignment, Harry’s magic came through in a trickle or built up until it exploded in an uncontrolled burst.” Dumbledore returned his wand to his pocket. “How does it feel?”

Harry turned his wrist over and examined the cuff. He opened and closed his fist. He could feel the undercurrent of his magic, but his hairs no longer stood on end. “Better. Less tingly. More natural, just like it’s a part of my arm.”

“Try to cast,” Draco said, eyes bright.

Harry experienced a surge of hope. He’d set a lot of things on fire, but maybe not this time. He gathered his happiest thoughts and they all featured Draco.

_“Expecto Patronum!”_

The silver stag leapt forth from his wand and cantered around the grove as Harry let out a delighted _whoop_. Bilby smiled and nodded in approval.

Draco grinned. “Show off.”

Harry smiled back. “Well, what did you expect?”

Draco rolled his eyes, fondly. “Oh, I don’t know, a _Lumos,_ perhaps a _Wingardium Leviosa_.”

“I, on the other hand, expected nothing less. Well done Harry.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. Then he became more earnest. “Everything appears to be in order. Now that that’s sorted, we do have other matters to discuss. It’s fortunate that you’re both here. It will make this considerably easier.”

Harry cancelled his Patronus and the stag dissolved into a silvery mist before disappearing entirely.

“It will make what easier?” Harry asked, wary.

“The matter of Sirius’ Last Will and Testament.”

It was as though the wind had been knocked out of Harry at the mention of Sirius’ name. He’d been trying so hard to keep his mind occupied and away from the unpleasant memory of how he’d lost his godfather’s portrait. Draco shifted his hand so that their pinkies brushed. Harry looked up and Dumbledore eyed them curiously.

“We had Sirius’ portrait with us for a little while. But we think Death Eaters took him.” Harry did not feel like going into the details of how foolish he’d been.

“That is most unfortunate. But I commend you both for not going after him. A rescue mission for a portrait would have been a fool’s endeavour.” Dumbledore’s voice was firm but grave.

“So, what about Sirius’ Will?” Harry asked, eager to move on from the sore topic of the portrait.

“Yes indeed. Sirius decreed that the Black family vault and Grimmauld Place should go to Harry.”

Harry felt an overwhelming flutter of longing in his chest and was thoroughly touched. Sirius cared for him so deeply that he’d left everything to him. It meant so much. 

“But,” Dumbledore continued unexpectedly, “it seems we’ve hit a snag. A complication if you will.”

Both boys, and Bilby, stared at the headmaster.

“You see, while it may have been Sirius’ intention to leave everything to Harry, I’m not entirely convinced conviction and determination are enough on their own. The Black Family, as you know, are one of the Sacred 28, representing a long lineage of pureblood witches and wizards. I believe that Blood Magic, invoked a long time ago, will prevent this transfer from taking place. If that is the case, then Draco here is Sirius’ rightful heir.”

Harry was confused. “Wouldn’t the house naturally fall to the next oldest Black? Bellatrix or Narcissa?”

“If that were the case, then Bellatrix, as eldest, would indeed be the next in line. But the type of magic invoked is patriarchal in nature, and thus will only recognise a male heir.”

Harry could imagine the number of things Hermione would have to say about this. She wouldn’t be wrong either.

“That’s rather archaic and antiquated,” Harry said. Draco flashed Harry a smile, evidently proud of his expanded vocabulary.

“I do agree with you, Harry, but it is what it is. Now, the time has come to find out. Whoever has inherited the house has also inherited – ” Dumbledore flicked his wand and a grimy House-Elf appeared with a _pop_.

The elf’s eyes were bloodshot, his ears hooded and bat-like, his nose a hooked snout which he somehow managed to turn up at the sight of Harry. He reeked of cheap Firewhisky. Bilby turned up her nose in distaste and Harry couldn’t blame her. He had hoped he’d never have to set eyes on the traitorous Kreacher again. Harry’s stomach clenched and he gritted his teeth. 

“Kreacher won’t serve the blood traitor,” he snarled at Harry.

“As you can see, Harry, Kreacher finds it unsatisfactory to pass into your ownership. Now we must see if his reluctance is personal or magical in nature.”

“Won’t, won’t, won’t,” Kreacher muttered under his breath.

“Well, I don’t really want him either, to be honest,” Harry said.

“Nevertheless Harry, give him an order. If he truly belongs to you then he will have no choice but to obey.”

Harry wasn’t sure what to command, but Kreacher grated on his nerves. He kept making retching noises as though he might sick up from being in Harry’s presence.

Harry finally snapped. “Kreacher, shut up!”

“Never! Kreacher will never take orders from a filthy half-blood like you. Kreacher spits at your feet.”

“Most interesting.” Dumbledore reacted as though this was a big experiment. He turned to Draco. “Now I believe it is your turn.”

Draco smiled. Outwardly he appeared sweet, but it was a smile that Harry recognised as calculating.

“Kreacher, shine Harry’s shoes. Make it spiffy.”

“As you wish, Master.” Kreacher bowed so low his nose touched the ground. “Kreacher will do this menial job, serve the half-blood, even though it is beneath Kreacher. Yes, because it is what Master wishes.” Kreacher conjured a rag and began to shine Harry’s shoes.

“Well, that settles the matter.” Dumbledore straightened the spectacles on the bridge of his crooked nose. “It appears that Grimmauld Place and the Black estate belong to you, Draco.”

Draco looked at Harry, who had been doing his best to look everywhere else but at Kreacher. “I’m sorry Harry. I know he was your godfather and he meant for you to have all this – ”

Harry interlaced their fingers and gave Draco’s hand a squeeze.

“It’s all right, Draco. I’ve more than enough gold in the Potter vault, and truthfully, I wouldn’t know what to do with an old wizarding home anyway. You’ve lived in the Manor your whole life. You’ll be a much better owner.” It was true. Harry had no desire to own Grimmauld, the place that had brought Sirius so much misery. The place that should have been their home had they gotten the chance. To own it now would serve as a bitter reminder of the things Harry couldn’t have. He didn’t even have Sirius’ portrait anymore. His heart ached with melancholy. But he also wondered what it meant for the two of them now that Draco owned it.

Draco looked down at Kreacher, who appeared miserable. “Kreacher, you will treat Harry with the same amount of respect you hold for me. You will not call him a half-blood or a blood traitor.” Kreacher looked like he might be ill. “You will take orders from him as though he were also your Master. Do I make myself clear?” Kreacher nodded, begrudgingly, but muttered expletives under his breath.

“What was that?” Draco flashed Kreacher a dark stare.

“Nothing. As you wish, Master.”

Draco nodded. “That will be all. As you were.”

Kreacher Disapparated with a _pop_.

Harry looked up at Dumbledore. “Is Buckbeak still at Grimmauld Place?” 

Draco quickly turned to Harry. He looked horrified at the possibility that a Hippogriff resided in the house he’d just inherited.

Dumbledore smiled. “No, he has been re-christened Witherwings and is currently with Hagrid. The Order left Grimmauld Place soon after Sirius passed. We couldn’t stay when ownership of the house was in question.” Dumbledore examined Harry thoughtfully and Harry didn’t think it boded well.

“If you’re here to take me back to the Dursleys, the answer is _no_. I won’t go.”

“Harry, you needn’t return to Privet Drive this summer, but you must know that this” — he gestured around their camp — “is only temporary. You can’t outrun your destiny.”

Draco’s eyes snapped up to Harry. “What’s he talking about?”

“The Prophecy.” The words came out but Harry didn’t recognise his own voice. It sounded distant, like someone else’s.

“You said it smashed.”

Harry looked into Draco’s eyes, intense, but perhaps not as surprised or as angry as they should be. Harry bit his lip while he mulled over his options. He decided on the truth.

“It did smash, that was the truth. But not the whole truth.”

“What is the truth then?” Draco asked, voice hesitant.

“You may as well tell him, Harry. I’m surprised you haven’t already.” Dumbledore’s voice was calm and steady.

Harry nodded, then looked at Draco. “The Prophecy was made to Professor Dumbledore, so he was able to show me a memory. As you know, they keep calling me the Chosen One. But have you thought about why or what that means?”

“It’s because you’re the Dark Lord’s chosen enemy. You caused him to lose power and now he wants revenge.”

“According to the Prophecy, I’m destined to either kill or be killed by the Dark Lord. Neither can live while the other survives.”

Saying it out loud to Draco made Harry feel both better and worse. He was no longer burdened with this heavy secret, but the look in Draco’s eyes pierced his gut. Was this the end of the road for them? It was understandable; Harry was a giant target, destined to die.

“I’d like to make a suggestion, if I may,” Dumbledore said. “I can’t tell you what to do — I dare say you wouldn’t listen to me even if I did — but I strongly suggest you go to Grimmauld Place tonight. The Death Eaters are closing in and they are determined. I don’t know if you are aware of how close they’ve come to catching up with you.” He flicked his wand and a Pensieve appeared. He pulled out a phial and poured the shimmery silver substance into the basin.

Dumbledore motioned for Draco. “Come and see for yourself.”

Draco slowly dipped his face into Pensieve. He grew tense, his hands clenched into fists, and when he emerged, he was more pale than usual. Harry didn’t know what he’d seen but he knew it was bad.

“The memory was my father’s, but I felt my mother’s magic.”

“Very good, Draco. You’re most observant. Your mother used Legilimency to provide the memory. She also gave me this.” Dumbledore passed Draco a sealed letter, which he put into his pocket as Dumbledore siphoned the memory back into the phial and Vanished it along with the Pensieve. “Now you understand why I’ve made my suggestion. Your mother is frantic. If not for your own sake, then please go for hers. The house is under a Fidelius Charm; you’ll both be safe there.”

“Does this mean you’re the Secret Keeper of my house?”

“I’m afraid so. Unless you have someone else in mind for the job?”

Draco looked down and quietly muttered, “No.” But he looked up again with conviction. “If we go, this doesn’t mean that Harry has to do what you or the Order want. He is not your pawn.”

“I’ve never considered him as such.” Dumbledore appeared earnest, but Harry wasn’t sure he fully believed him.

Draco, face still ashen, nodded and Dumbledore showed him the address written on a piece of parchment. Once he’d committed it to memory, Draco cast _Incendio_ and the page burned.

“Wonderful. Go and get yourself settled. I’ll stop by around the same time tomorrow. We have more to discuss, but it can wait until then.”

They all stood. Harry was a little overwhelmed with the sudden knowledge that they would be setting foot in Sirius’ old house, and a little nervous at the implication.

“Well, I believe this concludes our business for today. I have a few more things to take care of before dinner.” He eyed them both with knowing eyes. “It appears both Minerva and I are owed a tidy sum of galleons and I intend to collect.”

“Sir?” Harry felt as though he had missed something.

“I am of course referring to your relationship with Draco.”

“You placed bets on us?”

“My boy, there’s been a running pool on whether or not, and when, you two would get together since at least third year. It was only a matter of time.”

“But, if Mother has been in touch with you, then you’ve been privy to inside information,” Draco said.

Dumbledore wiggled his eyebrows. “That’s neither here nor there.”

“Out of curiosity,” Draco said, “what house were you in?”

“Gryffindor, of course.” Dumbledore seemed taken aback that anyone would even ask.

Draco pursed his lips. “You would have made a fine Slytherin.”

Dumbledore smiled and prepared to depart. He paused before he Disapparated.

“Oh, and Harry, sometimes we find that what we’ve lost isn’t really lost after all. Sometimes it’s just misplaced.” There was a twinkle in his eye. Before Harry could question what he meant, Dumbledore strode out into the clearing, called Fawkes to him — the phoenix perched on his outstretched arm, the healthy one — and in the blink of an eye they were gone.

Draco stepped into Harry’s space and rested his forehead against Harry’s. “I don’t know if I fully trust Dumbledore, but I don’t think we have a choice. My father saw us yesterday.”

Harry felt icy cold despite the midday sun.

“But I want you to know, no matter what happens, you aren’t in this alone. Chosen One or not, I’m with you all the way. If you must fight to the death, so be it, but we’ll do it together.”

Harry looked at Draco, surprised, relieved, then kissed him gently. He let out a sigh and shook his head.

“What?”

“Dumbledore. You heard him. He always talks in riddles.”

But instead of commiserating, Draco looked inquisitive, and Harry wondered why.

“Yes?” Harry said.

“It might be nothing. I don’t want to get your hopes up. But I wonder…”

Harry sighed. Draco sounded as cryptic as Dumbledore. “Not you too.”

“Let’s go to Grimmauld Place, shall we?”


	6. A Place to Call Home

They packed up their camp, and with a _pop,_ they arrived in the ground floor sitting room of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Harry lurched forward, his stomach twisted into knots, and took a moment to make sure all his parts were physically accounted for. Would he ever get used to Apparition?

Draco placed a steadying hand on Harry’s back. “All right?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” Harry replied and was surprised to find it was the truth. He’d expected to feel horrible once inside the house; overwhelmed by a slurry of emotions. Instead, he felt empty. A great big _nothing_ where there should have been _something_.

Bilby looked around the room and gasped. Kreacher, having heard their arrival, sauntered into the room and bowed down at Draco’s feet. “Master.”

Before Draco could respond, Bilby launched into a lengthy tirade directed at Kreacher.

“This house, a noble and most ancient wizarding home, has been horribly neglected.”

Harry couldn’t believe how much the house had backslid in the months since Sirius had died. Dust motes clung to every surface, cobwebs choked the corners and light fixtures, and the pungent, musty smell screamed _disuse_. Was the house in mourning? Was that even possible?

Kreacher rose and aimed his hooked nose downward at Bilby. “This house, mostly empty for years. Recently, only occupied by blood traitors.”

Bilby was not intimidated easily. She stood tall and looked Kreacher directly in the eye. “Doesn’t matter.” Her voice was sharp, jagged. “You disrespect the house, bring shame to all House-Elves. Kreacher is a disgrace and should be ashamed.”

Kreacher shrank under her gaze and was the first to look away. He sputtered incoherently while he stared down at his feet. Bilby leapt into action, alternating between Vanishing dust motes and flinging hexes at Kreacher until he joined her with the cleaning. Bilby continued to flash dirty glares in his direction while Kreacher muttered expletives under his breath. It was a shaky and tentative truce.

Draco slid his hand into Harry’s and pulled him closer. “Let’s leave them to it,” he said and led Harry out into the entry hallway.

Beyond the garble of angry House-Elves, the silence that filled the rest of the house was eerie. Harry and Draco’s combined footsteps on creaky floorboards echoed out into the void. Harry knew it was stupid, but he expected to hear Buckbeak’s squawks filter down from the floors above, or for Sirius to come thundering down the stairs, tunelessly crooning Celestina Warbeck’s _A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love_ like he’d done last Christmas. The emptiness was unsettling, but the silence was soon filled. Before he could stop him, Draco pulled open the moth-eaten curtains. Walburga fixed her eyes onto Harry and began to shout. 

“FILTHY HALF-BLOOD! HOW DARE YOU RETURN TO THE NOBLE AND MOST ANCIENT HOUSE OF BLACK. COME TO USURP WHAT ISN’T YOURS? WELL, IT WILL NEVER HAPPEN. MARK MY WORDS.” She noticed Draco and lowered her voice. “Ah, the true Black heir. _Toujours Pur_.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “But you look like you’re up to something. Trouble. I’ll have to keep my eye on you.”

“That’s enough of that.” Harry flicked his wand and the curtains closed. It was so nice to be able to do that again, although on this occasion perhaps a small fire wouldn’t have been amiss. “I have to say she was surprisingly cordial today. Apparently, you bring out her best.”

“Crazy old bat,” Draco muttered. He looked around in disgust. “Bilby is right, this place is filthy. Mother would have had Kneazles. It does have potential, though.”

“You should have seen it last summer. The lot of us spent ages scrubbing and cleaning it up.”

Draco’s eyes widened. “Don’t tell Bilby that. She’ll positively murder Kreacher.”

Harry was tempted. Kreacher deserved whatever wrath came to him. But then Bilby wouldn’t have anyone to order around and Harry liked the idea of Bilby putting Kreacher in his place. Slow torture. Penance. Better than a quick end.

Draco leaned in and pushed a lock of Harry’s hair behind his ear. He kissed Harry’s nose, his forehead, and Harry found he didn’t feel quite so empty anymore.

“Show me around the house. I’ve never been here before and I want to see everything.”

Harry nodded. He held Draco’s hand and together they went up the stairs. Draco cringed at the row of elf heads that lined the wall.

“These will have to go. Terribly distasteful.”

They poked their heads into the rooms on the first floor: the study; the drawing room, where Draco eyed the names on the Black Family tapestry and ran his fingers lovingly over his mother’s; the library, which Harry knew Draco could easily get lost in for hours; the loo.

When they reached the second floor landing, Draco eyed the double doors, the dark wood elaborately carved with serpents and roses.

“If I am correct, this should be the Master Bedroom. Our bedroom.” Draco’s lips brushed against Harry’s ear, the tiny hairs stood on end, and Harry found himself pinned against the wall. Draco’s lips were on his, soft yet urgent, and Harry wound his arms around Draco’s waist and pulled him closer. Draco responded by slotting his leg between Harry’s thighs and deepening the kiss. Harry moaned.

All too soon Draco pulled back and said, “Let’s take a look, then, shall we?”

“Wait, there’s something you should know.”

But Draco had already pushed open the doors. The air rushed in and sent a flurry of Hippogriff feathers aflutter.

“Merlin and Morgana. What the – ”

Harry hadn’t had a chance to warn him that Sirius kept Buckbeak in this room. There were feathers and droppings everywhere, with traces of blood from the rats Sirius used to feed him visible along the floor. It was clear Kreacher hadn’t bothered to clean the room after Dumbledore had come to collect Buckbeak.

Disgust and horror played out on Draco’s pinched face, but Harry’s attention was suddenly drawn away. His chest tightened and he couldn’t breathe. He wanted to walk, but his legs wouldn’t carry him. Rooted to the spot, Harry’s eyes remained transfixed on the painting that hung over the dusty and rumpled bed.

Sirius’ portrait. The one he’d lost.

“Long time, no see, kiddo,” he said cheekily and winked. “I see you two have worked out your issues.”

When Harry could finally tear his eyes away — words still failed him — Draco had a knowing smile on his face. “I…I can’t believe it,” Harry said quietly. “How are you here?”

“Draco, you look rather pleased with yourself. Care to fill Harry in?”

“When Dumbledore said, _sometimes we find that what we’ve lost isn’t really lost after all. Sometimes it’s just misplaced,_ I started to suspect.”

“Started to suspect what?” Harry asked in exasperation. “Enough with the riddles. I can’t stand it.”

Draco smirked. “Patience, love.”

Harry glared at Draco, and Draco rolled his eyes fondly.

“It’s not uncommon for members of the older wizarding families to have a Homing Charm spelled onto their family portraits. That way, if they took a portrait with them when they travelled, and the portrait became lost, it would conveniently reappear at home. Sirius’ portrait was painted before he and the charming lady downstairs had their falling out. She would have had it charmed with every possible enchantment. As a matter of pureblood pride, she would have spared no expense.”

Harry’s eyes became blurry. He coughed as he willed away the tears that threatened to overflow. Draco’s arms wrapped around him from behind and he rested his chin on Harry’s shoulder. Harry exhaled, slowly, and when he spoke his voice only wavered slightly.

“I thought I’d lost you. Again. I’m so glad you’re here.” He would have felt numb if not for Draco reassuringly pressed against his back.

“I’m glad I’m here too,” Sirius said. He looked a tad emotional as well. “Err, well, perhaps not exactly here, though. I find myself in the unenviable position of overlooking your bed. Well, I assume you plan to sleep here once the room is restored?”

Harry nodded.

“Then please do me a courtesy and relocate me elsewhere. The kitchen, perhaps? That way I can still chat with you while you eat, but I’ll be three floors below your bedroom, as I’ll no doubt need to be.”

“We’re not that loud,” Draco protested.

“Draco, you’re loud and mouthy as hell.” Harry snickered and Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Harry, you’re not much quieter.” Harry blushed and it was Draco’s turn to laugh.

The moment passed and Draco called for Bilby. She materialised instantly, sweaty and covered in cobwebs. She gaped as she took in the state of the room.

“No. Masters cannot stay here yet.”

“Let’s make this room a priority,” Draco commanded, gently.

She Apparated away and came back arguing with Kreacher. They bickered about the dreadful state of the room, and about Kreacher’s general lacking as a House-Elf, which pleased Harry to no end. He particularly enjoyed it when she called him _slovenly_ and _shameful_. Harry looked up at Sirius, who also appeared to delight in the exchange.

“I guess we’ll have to make other sleeping arrangements for tonight,” Draco said.

Harry agreed and went to remove Sirius’ portrait from the wall.

“Not yet, Harry, you can leave me here for now. I don’t want to miss any part of this. It’s the most entertainment I’ve had in ages.” Sirius couldn’t contain the joy on his face. He took off his leather jacket and sat on the fainting couch, ready to enjoy the show. “Too bad there’s no popcorn.”

Harry and Draco went down the hallway to what had once been his old room. Draco admired the serpent door handle before they went in.

“Two beds?”

“I used to share the room with Ron.”

“Well, we’ll transfigure them into one great, big bed.” Draco waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“In that case, I will be sure to occupy one of my other portraits,” came a dry, old voice. Phineas Nigellus Black. Harry had forgotten all about him.

“That may be for the best,” Draco said.

They quickly poked their heads into the other bedrooms on the third and fourth floor. Most were heavily shrouded in dust, and Harry would have felt weird sleeping in Sirius’ old room with the scantily clad pin-up girls — and guys, how had he never noticed that before? — leering at him.

Eventually, they decided it was time for tea and biscuits.

They stopped by the sitting room on their way down to the kitchen.

“If the house is as neglected as it seems, then there’s probably not much in the pantry,” Draco said as he rummaged through his bag. “Perfect.” He extracted a packet of chocolate digestives and a bag of loose-leaf Earl Grey tea.

The kitchen, much like the rest of the house, was blanketed under a layer of dust. Draco gave the teapot and teacups a thorough _Scourgify_ and while Harry conjured water and set the kettle to heat over the fire.

“I suppose it’s just like camping,” Draco mused, “although not as clean.”

Harry snorted. He found a container of sugar left behind by the Order and Draco conjured milk. The kettle whistled.

They’d cleared the table and had just taken their first sip when the Floo roared to life, startling them both.

“Oh, Harry!” Mrs Weasley exclaimed from within the green flames. “Thank Merlin you’re here! Dumbledore said you might be.”

“Did he now?” Draco muttered irritably under his breath.

“Hello to you too, dear.” Mrs Weasley returned her urgent gaze to Harry. “We’ve been worried sick about you.”

“You have?” Harry was genuinely surprised, still under the impression she was angry at him for involving Ron and Ginny in the disastrous Department of Mysteries incident. He knelt by the fireplace to see her better. Draco came and stood behind him.

“Don’t be silly, we’ve been beside ourselves with worry. You run off without explanation and then expect Fred and George to keep it a secret?” Her voice shook a little.

“You’re mad,” Harry said.

“No, I’m not mad, Harry. Well, I was mad, but more at Dumbledore than you.” A rosy flush bloomed on her cheeks and neck as she spoke. “He felt it best – ” she stopped herself and pursed her lips. “Well, what’s done is done. You could have been hurt, or worse.”

“But we weren’t. I’m sorry I worried you, Mrs Weasley, but I did what was best for me. For us.” He glanced up at Draco, who placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder.

Mrs Weasley looked back and forth between the two. “Why don’t you boys come for dinner? You look peaky and could use a good meal. Ron’s still in Australia with Hermione, but Charlie has come home to visit and we’d all love to see you. The both of you. You can tell us about your summer, fill us in on what we’ve missed.”

Harry’s heart warmed. He’d been too hurt and angry to realise how much he missed Mrs Weasley. For so many summers the Burrow had been a place to call home. It hurt when he no longer had that and was forced to spend the summer with the Dursleys. He wondered how Draco would get along with them. Would he fit in? Or would they be at odds and he’d be forced to choose?

Draco massaged his shoulders gently. “Go ahead Harry, I’ll sort things out here with Bilby and Kreacher.”

_Oh._ He didn’t want to go alone. He wanted Draco to come with him.

“Draco, we expect you at dinner as well.” Mrs Weasley said firmly. Before Draco could argue, her face disappeared, and the green flames sputtered out.

“She can’t be serious. There’s no way she really wants me there. You should go, Harry.” Draco tugged Harry to his feet.

“You heard her. Mrs Weasley doesn’t say things she doesn’t mean.” Harry bit his lip. “I want you to come too.”

Draco did not seem completely convinced. “Father’s told me plenty about their feud. The hatred runs deep between our families, has done so for generations. It won’t be a pleasant evening.”

“Mrs Weasley won’t hold an old family grudge against you. Besides, it’s not exactly your fault, now is it?”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “I hardly have a great track record with any of the Weasleys.”

“And tonight is the perfect time to change that.” Harry grasped Draco’s hand and held it in both of his. “We can do this, together. Remember, I choose you too.”

After they’d had their tea and biscuits, they went to get changed. Although he’d taken a shine to Harry’s hoodies, Draco insisted on smart trousers and button-downs for them both despite Harry’s continued protests that they would be overdressed. _It’s never too late to make a good impression_ , he’d insisted. Harry checked in with Sirius, who was still greatly entertained by the back-and-forth arguing between the House-Elves. But, he decided he would prefer to join them at the Burrow, so Harry took down the portrait and tucked Sirius under his arm. By the time Harry made his way down to the kitchen, Draco had returned from his mission to find the wine cellar. _Any wizarding home worth its salt will have one,_ he’d said, and he was apparently right. With two bottles of Elven wine in hand, he stood in front of the Floo, looking decidedly nervous.

“It will be all right, Draco. They’re kind and they’ve always been like family to me. Besides, it could be worse.” Draco gave him a look that dared him to even try to explain how it could possibly be worse. Harry was up for the challenge. “Hey, we could be headed for dinner with your family. Could you imagine eating soup while making polite conversation with your father and Bellatrix? Asking the Dark Lord to pass the salt?”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Point made.” He paused for a moment. “Before we go…” He called to Bilby and Kreacher and they instantly appeared, covered in feathers and dust.

“We’ll be out for dinner. Do try not to kill each other in our absence.”

Bilby glared at Kreacher, but then schooled her face into a sweet and angelic expression that was absolutely terrifying. Kreacher seemed genuinely frightened. “Bilby makes no promises.”

***

They stepped out of the Floo and into the Weasley kitchen. Draco landed with his usual graceful elegance while Harry, without the benefit of a lifetime of practise, stumbled out clumsily. It was one of the many things Draco once would have taunted Harry for, but now he couldn’t help the fond smile that sprouted on his face. Harry’s lack of wizarding etiquette was incredibly endearing.

Draco busied himself with sweeping the ashes off his shirt while Mrs Weasley swept Harry into what could only be described as a bone-crushing hug. Sirius, visible over Mrs Weasley’s shoulder, gave him a knowing _she gets like this_ expression. Draco smiled, but his chest tightened. Seeing Harry and Mrs Weasley together made him miss his own mother.

“I missed you so much. Don’t ever do that to me again, Harry.” Mrs Weasley didn’t let go for an exceptionally long time.

The kitchen was filled with the delicious, mouth-watering aroma of a Sunday roast. Draco didn’t think the Manor kitchen had ever smelled this good even with all the House-Elves hard at work. He could see the roast, just visible, through the window in the oven, Yorkshire puddings on the far counter kept warm under a Stasis Charm, carrots were being peeled and sliced with charmed knives, and something was bubbling happily on the stove, constantly stirred by a charmed wooden spoon. He understood why Harry liked coming here. It smelled delicious and homey.

Draco became aware of a woman sitting at a small table, drinking tea.

“Wotcher, Harry,” the woman said. Harry and Mrs Weasley broke apart and Harry faced the woman at the table.

“Tonks, good to see you again,” he said and flashed her a grin. He looked back to Draco and urged him forward. “This is my boyfriend, Draco Malfoy.”

It gave Draco such a rush to hear Harry introduce him as such, to claim him. They may have spent the last month together, but it thrilled him to hear Harry make the declaration out loud, in front of people he loved and respected, as though that somehow made it more real.

Tonks stood and held out her hand. “We haven’t met, but you’re my cousin. My mother is Andromeda Tonks, formerly Black.”

He’d heard about his mother’s sister and her family. He’d also seen the scorch marks on the tapestry. “Nymphadora, right?”

She grimaced, as though she’d eaten something sour. “Please, call me Tonks.”

“Ooooh, if you value your life you’ll do as she asks,” Sirius said and winked at Draco.

Tonks looked at Sirius and a whole host of expressions flitted across her face – _curious_ , Draco thought – before she greeted him somberly. “Cousin, it’s good to see you again. Although I do wish it were under different circumstances.”

“She blames herself,” Mrs Weasley interjected.

“I was on duty,” Tonks countered.

“Nobody is to blame,” Sirius said.

“Well,” Mrs Weasley said, clearly hoping to change the subject, “you don’t look too shabby for four weeks on your own.” She looked them up and down. “But you could still use some fattening up.”

Sirius snickered. Apparently, this was a common occurrence.

“We’re all right,” Harry reassured her. “It smells delicious and we’re looking forward to it.” Harry’s eyes settled on a book on the table. “Oh, this is great!” He picked it up, eyes alight, and brought it over to Draco.

It was a picture book, but none of the photos moved. Clearly Muggle then. The first photo was of Ron on a surfboard. But there was more than one picture. Harry fanned the book, so the pictures flipped by quickly, and it looked as though they were moving. Ron surfed a wave until he lost his balance and fell. Hermione laughed as he sputtered and snorted out a face full of water.

“They sent this by long-distance Owl Post just the other day,” Mrs Weasley said, her back turned, as she examined the roast. “They’ll be home at the end of the week.”

The kitchen door swung open and Draco came face to face with someone unexpected. Their old Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. The werewolf. Lupin smiled kindly, “Harry, thank Merlin you’re back.” Then his eyes settled on the portrait, still in Harry’s arms. “I don’t believe it,” he said. “May I?”

Harry passed Sirius over, and Draco watched as Tonks’ eyes flitted back and forth between the portrait and Lupin before she rose and muttered an excuse to leave.

“Please stay for dinner,” Mrs Weasley implored. “It won’t be much longer.”

“It’s been lovely Molly, but really, I must get home.”

There was a pregnant pause following her departure and Draco took the opportunity to present the bottles of wine to Mrs Weasley.

“Elven wine. How lovely, thank you, dear.”

Lupin gazed at Sirius’ portrait with obvious astonishment. “It’s amazing. Just like looking into a Pensieve.” He looked up at everyone in the room and his eyes landed on Draco. “Come,” he said, putting a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “Why don’t we go and give these two a moment to catch up.

While Draco wasn’t overly keen on the possibility of being surrounded and outnumbered by Weasleys, he didn’t feel he had a choice. If he were reunited with his mother after a long absence, he would want a little one-on-one time as well. He smiled at Harry as Lupin said, “Don’t worry Harry, we’ll take good care of him.”

“Behave,” Harry said to Sirius.

“Always,” Lupin replied, and at the same time Sirius said, “Never.”

Aside from the kitchen, the ground floor was open-concept but divided into a dining area and a living room. Draco eyed the mismatched chairs around the long dining table and resisted the urge to transfigure them so they all matched. The living room looked the way Draco had imagined the Gryffindor common room: bursting with maroon and gold, with cosy arrangements of smaller tables, chairs, and a couch. 

Two Weasleys sat at a table deeply involved in a game of Exploding Snap. One had a short beard and an undercut, a wiry build, and his arms were covered equally in burns and dragon tattoos. Draco gathered he must be Charlie, the one visiting from Romania. He looked dangerous but had a warm smile that brightened when he saw Sirius. The other had shoulder-length hair, bright blue eyes, and an earring. He seemed polished and put together, but Draco had the distinct impression there was more to him than met the eye. Draco thought it odd they both wore gloves, but on closer inspection, he saw why. This wasn’t a regular game of Exploding Snap; the cards had moving dragons that shot out flames.

A Quidditch game played over the wireless. Puddlemere United was trouncing the Chudley Cannons, to the disgust of the Weasley twins. Draco had never bothered to learn their names, but everyone in Slytherin secretly appreciated their antics. The pair were seated on the couch huddled over a stack of notes, deep in discussion, looking very much like mischief. As Draco walked by, he caught a whiff of smoke with a hint of something metallic. Firework residue.

Lupin steered Draco over to the other table and propped Sirius up in an empty chair. He sat across from Sirius and gestured for Draco to sit as well.

“Ginny, your date is here,” one of the twins shouted, far louder than was necessary. The Weaslette bounced into the room but stopped abruptly when she saw Draco. She flashed him a dirty look as she passed by, and Draco resisted his knee-jerk reaction to flip her off. He needed to be on his best behaviour, for Harry. He smiled instead. She scowled and headed outside.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” the first twin called after her. “Or anything we _would_ do,” the other added before turning to address the portrait. “Looking good Sirius, not a day over fifteen,” he joked.

“So youthful we may have to seat you at the kids’ table with Harry, Draco, Ginny and Michael,” the first twin added. 

“There’s a kids’ table?” Draco said to no one in particular, horrified at the idea in general, and at the possibility of spending dinner making polite conversation with the Weaslette.

Lupin chuckled and shook his head. “No.”

Two bottles floated through the air and landed on the table in front of Draco and Lupin. The purple label read _Băutură Rea_.

“Wicked Brew,” Charlie translated and smiled.

The beer was strong, dark, and fortifying. Draco drank deeply. He hadn’t exactly been kind to Lupin when he was at Hogwarts and knew he didn’t deserve the man’s kindness now, but he appreciated it. He felt like a fish out of water, floundering among the many Gryffindors.

“So,” Lupin began, “you and Harry appear to have put aside your differences.”

“Yes, they’ve devoted _considerable time_ to working out their differences,” Sirius added with a mischievous glint in his eye that made Draco feel slightly exposed.

“Ah,” said Lupin, his eyes flashing, “so who won the bet?”

“Dumbledore, of course,” Sirius said.

“He had inside information,” Draco countered.

Lupin stared at him with an unreadable expression. “He always does.”

The twins animatedly discussed ethical sources of Erumpent horn, Puddlemere United scored another goal — there was a chorus of groans around the room — and Charlie watched the long-haired Weasley expectantly as he narrowly avoided a card that blasted flames.

“Come on,” Charlie exclaimed, “I almost had you.”

The long-haired Weasley winked at Charlie. “Cursebreaker.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Charlie said. “Another round?” The other man nodded.

When Draco looked back, Lupin and Sirius were deep in conversation. Draco could admit his cousin had been handsome in his youth. Werewolf or not, Lupin looked at Sirius with a gleam in his eye that was feral, possessive even. Had they ever? Draco suddenly felt as though he was intruding on something. Perhaps he was. He drank a large mouthful of beer.

Cheers erupted around the room as the Cannons unexpectedly scored. The twins jumped up and sent papers fluttering while Charlie and the other Weasley had to duck an unexpected burst of flames. Lupin and Sirius were lost in conversation, and the room suddenly felt too small.

Which was the reason why, when Mr Weasley came bursting through the door asking who wanted to see his new Muggle ride-on lawnmower — all the Weasley sons made hasty excuses — Draco found himself eagerly agreeing to go. He yearned to be outside in the fresh air and Mr Weasley looked genuinely delighted to have the company.

***

Harry hoped that Draco would be all right. He’d all but insisted that Draco come and now he felt like he’d abandoned him.

Mrs Weasley turned to him, her face sombre and serious. “I am terribly sorry I wasn’t there for you this summer. I know you have Sirius’ portrait now, but it’s not the same thing. I should have done more.”

Her expression made Harry feel extraordinarily guilty. He couldn’t stand the possibility that he’d caused her pain. “You had your own family to worry about, I understand.”

“No, you don’t.” She put her hands on Harry’s shoulders. “Harry, you are as much a part of this family as any of the children I’ve given birth to. I love you like a son. That you felt you had to run away, that you couldn’t come to me, it means I’ve failed you.”

It would have been easier had she been angry. Harry could deal with yelling. But seeing the pain in Mrs Weasley’s eyes, knowing he was the cause, when she’d always been so kind to him, it was too much. He’d always felt more like a burden than an actual part of the family. While it was nice of Mrs Weasley to say, he didn’t think he was on the same level as her actual children. Harry looked at her, unsure of what to say to make it all better.

“Was it bad, then?” she asked.

Harry nodded.

“I’ve always wondered. But I should have asked and not waited for you to confide in me.” She released Harry’s shoulders and fixed them both mugs of tea.

“Well, you won’t have to go back there. I’ll make sure of it.”

Harry cleared his throat. “I have no plans to. It doesn’t matter what Dumbledore says, I won’t be his pawn.”

“Oh, Harry. You’re more than just a pawn. But Dumbledore is very secretive about his plans, so I understand how it can feel that way. You just have to trust sometimes.” But she shook her head like even she had trouble following her own advice.

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“Look, I’m not saying you’re wrong for feeling the way you do. But you can’t just run off like that.” She set the mugs down on the table and they both sat.

“Well, I couldn’t stay there either,” Harry said, defiantly.

Mrs Weasley smiled softly. “Next time, come to me first. We can work anything out.” She sighed. “It’s so hard to keep you kids safe.”

“Well, we’re not kids anymore.” Harry took a small sip.

“Isn’t that the truth.” She looked wistful. “Ron’s off with Hermione, you’re with Draco, Ginny has a new boyfriend every time I blink, and now Bill and Fleur are engaged.”

“They are? When did that happen?” Harry didn’t realise Bill knew Fleur.

“They work together at Gringotts. They’re a bit of an odd match, but she makes Bill happy. She’s been helpful around the house and she made the dessert for tonight.” Clearly Mrs Weasly approved, she never let anyone cook in her kitchen. She gave Harry a lingering look, as though she was studying him. “You look nice, Harry, I like that colour on you. Brings out your eyes. I can see Draco makes you happy too. In fact, this is the happiest I’ve seen you in ages. You and Draco can come by anytime. You can even stay here if you want to.”

“Thanks,” he said. “It’s nice to be back.” Her support and acceptance meant so much to Harry. But he also wondered how Draco was getting on with the rest of the Weasleys. They hadn’t had the most positive interactions at school — of course, that was completely Draco’s own fault, he had been a pompous, arrogant git — and Harry wondered if they could move past it and get along.

Harry ventured into the main room and Fred and George whistled at him.

“Looking good Harry,” Fred said. “Very dapper,” George added.

Hedwig swooped down, perched on his shoulder, and nipped him firmly on the ear. “I know,” Harry cooed and tried to pet her, but she flew away before he could. Evidently, it would take time and perhaps some tasty owl treats for forgiveness.

Harry looked around the room. Lupin and Sirius were deep in conversation, and Draco wasn’t with them, which concerned Harry. Had he left?

Charlie and Bill gave Harry an enthusiastic wave. Bill winced as a dragon, taking full advantage of his momentary lapse, lunged out from a card — what game were they playing? — and breathed fire on his fingers. Bill cursed and put his singed fingers in his mouth, the remains of his gloves blackened and falling apart.

“Dragonhide gloves, bro.” Charlie wiggled his shiny, gloved fingers and laughed.

Fred and George leapt to their feet as the Cannons scored and clinked purple bottles together, Charlie and Bill gave each other a high-five, and Charlie dealt another round of cards. When the merriment had died down, and the twins were seated again, they looked up at Harry.

“I suppose I did promise to fill you in on the details,” Harry said.

They looked at each other. “Oh, I think we can put two and two together,” Fred said.

“Awww, ickle Harrykins has a boyfriend,” George teased. “They grow up so fast.”

As if Summoned, Draco came bursting through the door, cheeks pink and eyes alight. He walked right up to Harry, gave him a peck on the cheek and asked, “May I borrow your firebox? I think Arthur will get a kick out of it.”

Bewildered, Harry fished around in his pocket. Not only was Draco fine, but he was also on a first-name basis with Mr Weasley already. Harry passed him the lighter and watched in quiet amusement as Draco bounded out the door like he had been here a million times already. Apparently, Harry needn’t have worried. Draco was getting on perfectly well.

“So, Harry, perhaps you and Draco can be testers for our new product line.”

“What kind of products?” Harry asked, warily. He was their business partner, and he didn’t think they’d try out anything too ghastly on him, but he remembered the testing phase for the puking pastilles and nosebleed nougat. One couldn’t be too sure with Fred and George.

George beckoned him closer and whispered in his ear.

Harry turned very red.

***

They were all seated at the dining table, Mrs Weasley and Arthur at opposite ends. Harry and Ginny sat on either side of Draco with Fleur Delacour directly opposite, Bill — the long-haired Weasley — to her left and Ginny’s boyfriend, a dark-haired Ravenclaw named Michael whom Draco vaguely recognised from school, to Fleur’s right. Fred and Lupin were seated on the same side as Ginny with George, Charlie, and Sirius on the opposite side.

Surprisingly, Draco felt all right. He smiled as Harry pressed his leg against his. At first, he’d felt out of depth, despite his upbringing. His entire life he’d been schooled in the fine art of small talk; it was most important to chat with the right people to make connections and gain favour. But this was of no use with the Weasleys, who didn’t care at all about status or political alliances. Their banter was of the good-natured sort and revolved around genuine emotion rather than tactical manoeuvring. 

Draco was surprised at how easily he’d gotten on with Arthur. He’d respectfully called him _Mr Weasley_ , and been told, _Nonsense, call me Arthur, please. I insist_. Initially, Draco had just been happy to get out of the house, but he found he enjoyed Arthur’s company and his fondness for Muggle contraptions. But what surprised Draco the most was how easy it was to talk to Arthur. Far easier than with his own father.

Despite her initial hostility, Ginny turned out to be an easy nut to crack. Draco had gained her favour when he distracted her father so he didn’t catch her making out with Michael. Draco considered it to be mutually beneficial; he didn’t think Arthur needed to see his daughter’s kiss-swollen lips and the boy’s hand up her shirt. She never needed to know that he’d steered Arthur into her line of sight in the first place. Despite Harry’s claims that he was noble and brave, Draco was still Slytherin to the core.

Dinner was delicious. Mrs Weasley, Lupin and Sirius conversed at length and Draco only caught snippets from his end of the table. Instead, he listened to Charlie’s fascinating tales from the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary while he sneaked glances at Harry, noticing how his eyes lit up and his laughter came easily and often. Being around the Weasleys was good for Harry. Arthur topped up everyone’s glass with the Elven wine, and Fleur asked him in French how he enjoyed the clafoutis. _C’était divin_ , he’d replied. It was comforting to have someone to speak French with.

Mrs Weasley insisted they spend the night. Given the state of their room back at Grimmauld Place, it was just as well. Charlie was in Ron’s room — Mrs Weasley had turned his old room into a knitting room — and the twins lived over the shop, so Harry led Draco up to their old room. Draco was surprised Arthur and Mrs Weasley were so open with the idea of them sharing a room. But then again, they had spent the past month together.

Upon entering the room — sparse, with two single beds, two desks and a large closet — Draco understood why they’d been so at ease. Sirius’ portrait hung on the wall between the beds.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” he said with a grin.

When Harry tried to take him down, Sirius told him, “It’s no use. Twelve Hour Sticking Charm.”

They got ready for bed, and Harry laid down in Fred’s bed. “What?” he asked, clearly concerned by Draco’s expression. 

Despite the meal they’d just had, Draco’s stomach felt empty. Hollow. He took a deep breath and said, “I need to ask you something.”

“Of course, anything.” Harry propped himself up on his elbows.

Draco leaned over and tucked a strand of hair behind Harry’s ear. “I want you to be honest with me.” Harry nodded. “I know the Weasleys are family to you and this has been like your second home. I haven’t seen you this happy in a while and I know they’d be thrilled to have you back. Would you rather stay here?”

Harry smiled, and the smile reached his eyes. “I am happy,” Harry said, and Draco’s heart raced, his stomach clenched. Of course he was. Draco looked away, but Harry put his hand on Draco’s chin and guided him back until their eyes met.

“I’m happy because I’m here, but especially because you’re here too. Draco, my home is wherever you are.”

Hearing Harry say that was better than anything Draco could have hoped for. He lunged forward, grabbed Harry by the wrists, and pinned him down on the bed while he kissed him fervently, passionately.

Sirius coughed. “I’m glad you two are communicating, but I’d like to remind you that I am still here.”

Grudgingly, they broke apart. “It was just a kiss,” Harry said.

“Let’s see that it stays that way. And don’t even think of casting a Silencing Charm, I can still see you. Even in the dark. I have canine eyes.”

With a huff, Draco rolled off Harry and settled beside him. “Nox,” he said.

“Come here,” Harry whispered, and curved his body around Draco’s, “you can be the little spoon tonight.”


	7. An Unbreakable Vow

They meant to Floo home first thing in the morning, but somehow breakfast evolved into a vicious game of _friendly_ Quidditch. Bill had to work, but Fleur had the day off, so it was three-on-three with Fleur, Harry and Charlie against Draco, Ginny, and Michael, who had returned after breakfast. Harry’s team should have had the advantage — two Triwizard champions and a dragon tamer — but Ginny was not to be underestimated. Cunning and sly, she could have been in Slytherin. She procured spare flying clothes for both Harry and Draco, but somehow Draco’s were rather form-fitting and Harry kept getting distracted by the scandalously short shorts, transfixed by his arse and those perfect, pale thighs as they gripped the broom. Ginny gave Harry an evil grin every time she caught him looking and used his preoccupation to her full advantage. Unsurprisingly, her team won. They all shook hands, and Ginny looked undeniably smug as she and Draco high fived.

Afterwards, Mrs Weasley insisted they stay for lunch: hot, thick soup served with crusty bread rolls. It was well into the afternoon when they finally stumbled out into the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, laden with leftovers Molly insisted they take, and a promise that Ron and Hermione would fire-call at the end of the week once they’d returned home. Harry hung Sirius in the kitchen while Draco pondered aloud whether the eerie silence was a good thing or bad thing. Harry wondered the same thing. Had Bilby murdered Kreacher after all? But he didn’t get to contemplate that thought for too long.

A loud series of _taps_ sounded at the front door. By the time they made it up the stairs, Bilby had opened the door for Dumbeldore, pursing her lips in distaste. Kreacher was notably absent. Dumbledore strode into the hallway and Walburga’s curtains flew open.

“THE BLOOD TRAITOR IS BACK. HOW DARE YOU BESMIRCH THE NOBLE HOUSE OF MY ANCESTORS. OH, AND THE HALF-BLOOD IS HERE AS WELL. IS THIS WHAT YOU’RE UP TO, HEIR BLACK? BRINGING FILTH INTO OUR ANCESTRAL HOME? WELL, IF I HAVE ANYTHING TO SAY ABOUT IT…”

But they didn’t get to find out what she had to say about it because Dumbledore flicked his wand and the curtains snapped shut.

“I wonder if a Permanent Sticking Charm would keep them closed?” Draco muttered.

“I’m pleased to find you both here safe and unharmed. I dare say the house is looking better than the last time I was here. Your elves have been working hard.” Dumbledore gestured to the sitting room. “Shall we?”

“Master is wanting tea, Sir?” Bilby asked.

“Please,” Draco replied.

The sitting room was indeed brighter and cleaner than it had been the day before; the transfigured couch and chair sat prominently on display with the matching table in between. As with the last time they met, Dumbledore took the chair while Harry and Draco sat on the couch.

Harry stared at the blackened and shrivelled hand; he couldn’t help himself. A question formed on his lips, but Dumbledore cut him off before he could speak.

“Now is not the time, Harry, we still have a number of things to discuss,” he said, and Harry wasn’t sure what to expect. Perhaps a stern talking-to? Or a reminder about his destiny and responsibilities? But he did neither. Instead, Dumbledore took two letters out of his pocket and levitated them over. “Your OWL results. The Hogwarts Owls were unable to find their way through your wards, Draco, a most impressive feat if I do say so myself. They certainly helped keep you safe.”

Draco nodded and opened his letter with barely concealed excitement while Harry’s remained in his hand. A pleased expression formed on Draco’s face. It wasn’t a surprise; he always did well. Harry had no desire to open his. He would have preferred to delay the moment a while longer, forever perhaps. But he felt Dumbledore’s gaze on him and when he looked up the older man had a knowing look in his eye. He sighed and ripped open the envelope.

_Astronomy – A_

_Care of Magical Creatures – E_

_Charms – E_

_Defense Against the Dark Arts – O_

_Divination – P_

_Herbology – E_

_History of Magic – D_

_Potions – E_

_Transfiguration – E_

Harry knew his grades weren’t nearly as good as Draco’s or Hermione’s, but it could have been much worse. He hadn’t expected to pass Divination or History of Magic, and the E in Potions was a pleasant surprise. He wouldn’t be able to take Potions at the NEWT level, but he didn’t mind. He didn’t really want to be an Auror; he’d just said that to piss Umbridge off.

“Now, have you given any thought to which NEWTS you will take this year?” Dumbledore asked, his hands neatly folded in his lap.

Harry and Draco exchanged looks. Bilby arrived with a full tea service including scones and jam. She poured the tea — _milk and three sugars, thank you,_ Dumbledore instructed — and Harry gnawed at his lip.

“Actually, Sir,” Harry said, “we’ve been talking.”

“I thought you might.”

“We’re not going back. Draco’s switched sides. He won’t be safe in Slytherin, and I don’t think any of the other houses will easily accept him. Besides, I’m a huge target for, erm, You-Know-Who and his followers. I don’t want to put anyone at school in danger. Isn’t that the whole reason you wanted to keep me tucked away in Little Whinging?”

Dumbledore paused and looked at them both thoughtfully.

“There are ways around both of those concerns should you wish to return to Hogwarts. But there is also an alternative that you may find acceptable, given your extenuating circumstances.” He looked back and forth between them and made sure he had their undivided attention. “If you wish, you may remain here. But do not be mistaken, it will be no holiday. We’ll call it an _independent study year_. You will complete all your NEWT coursework, some additional training that I think you’ll find especially useful, and you will pick an area of study and complete an independent study unit.”

Harry swallowed audibly. “That sounds like a lot, Sir.”

“It is,” Dumbledore smiled gently, “but without the distractions of Quidditch, and the numerous detentions you no doubt would have served, I’m sure you will manage splendidly. However, you will be required to sit your exams with everyone else up at the castle at year-end.” He examined them both. “Now, if you are to remain here, I do insist on an Unbreakable Vow.”

“Promising what?” Draco asked with obvious mistrust in his voice.

“Relax Draco, nothing nefarious. All I ask is that you promise to protect and take care of each other, with your lives.”

“I’d do that anyway,” Draco declared, and Harry nodded as well.

“It seems neither of you have a problem with this arrangement. Should we take care of it now, then?”

“By all means,” Draco replied.

Dumbledore stood and levitated the table off to the side. Slowly, he knelt in front of them. “For the purpose of this spell, you should take them off,” Dumbledore said, gesturing to the Furtivus Cuffs. “But otherwise, it would be prudent to keep them on.”

Harry slipped the cuff off, placed it in his lap, and pressed his palm against Draco’s. The moment they touched, he felt the delicious prickle of Draco’s magic, currents of electricity and a bright citrusy scent. They slid their palms further along so they could grasp each other’s wrists. Dumbledore began the incantation and a coil of fire-red light wrapped around their wrists in a figure-eight. The magic tingled pleasantly.

“Draco Lucius Malfoy, do you swear, upon your life, to protect and care for Harry James Potter?”

“I will.”

Harry looked up and met Draco’s eyes, intense, silver, filled with emotion. _I love you_ , he mouthed, and Harry smiled. He couldn’t look away, his eyes remained fixed on Draco’s. Dumbledore’s voice sounded so far away, despite being right next to them, as he continued.

“And do you, Harry James Potter, upon your life, promise to protect and care for Draco Lucius Malfoy?”

_I love you too_ , he mouthed back.

“I will.”

As soon as Harry had said the words, the sensation around his wrist transformed from a slight tingle to a concentrated feeling of fire and ice; strong, intense, but not altogether unpleasant. Harry’s eyes snapped down to where they were joined, the crisscrossed lines of the spell had changed from red to silver and gold. The spellwork glowed intensely, growing brighter, and then disappeared, leaving a residual vibration in its wake that slowly dissipated.

When Harry looked up, Dumbledore’s eyes were misty.

“That’s beautiful, boys.”

They unclasped their hands and returned the cuffs to their wrists.

“That’s it?” Draco asked. “All you needed was for us to make an Unbreakable Vow, and now we can stay here?”

Dumbledore slowly rose and returned to the chair. He levitated the table back into place. “Yes. You can surely understand my desire for such a declaration given who your family is and who they have aligned themselves with. But now you’re promised to each other.” 

Dumbledore leaned forward and helped himself to a scone and jam. “Raspberry, my favourite. Give my compliments to Bilby.” He chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “Think about your NEWTS, boys, and your independent studies. You have three days to decide. Professor Snape will be your liaison and will oversee your education this year.”

They both gaped at Dumbledore.

“But Professor, Snape hates me.”

“Sir, Severus is a Death Eater.”

They spoke in unison. Harry could feel the nervous tension that radiated from Draco.

“Your concerns are noted, but I think I have a better grasp of the situation. Draco, Professor Snape is indeed a Death Eater,” Dumbledore replied, voice serene, “but he is also a valuable spy for the Order.”

Draco seemed taken aback but remained silent, contemplative.

“But seriously, Snape?” Harry repeated, incredulous. Maybe they should just go back to Hogwarts after all? “Won’t he be too busy with teaching and his duties as Head of Slytherin?” Harry added, hopefully.

“Harry, please, it’s _Professor_ Snape. He volunteered, and I must agree he’s well-suited for both your needs. I think you’ll find that extending him the benefit of the doubt, and perhaps a humble apology, will go a long way towards mending broken bridges.”

Harry couldn’t believe he was hearing this. Apologise to the man who had bullied him relentlessly since he’d started at Hogwarts? But then again, Dumbledore had ignored the Dursleys’ abuse for years because it suited the bigger picture. The Cause. It was always about the end game. But perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad. He’d be with Draco, and Snape couldn’t be there with them all the time.

“I will if he will.” He sincerely doubted Snape would apologise.

“Excellent,” Dumbledore said and rose. “I trust you’ve found Sirius. Have you moved him from the master bedroom?”

“He’s hanging in the kitchen,” Harry replied.

“Wonderful. I’ll have a quick word and be on my way. You can expect a visit from Professor Snape on Thursday. Be prepared with your NEWT and independent study selections.”

“Sir,” Draco said and stood. “There’s something you should know.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “I’m aware you were tasked with my murder. I’m also well aware that since you turned down the job — thank you, by the way — another has been chosen in your place. Everything is under control. You would do well to focus on your studies.”

With a kind smile and a swish of robes that would have made Snape proud, the headmaster left the room.

***

Following Dumbledore’s departure, they made their way upstairs to the master bedroom. Bilby had worked a miracle. The stench — which Draco had suspected would always linger — was gone, replaced by an appealing fresh citrus scent, the woodwork shone, and the pale grey damask wallpaper looked fresh and new. Gone was the older Jacobean style bed and instead, front and centre, was Draco’s four-poster dragon bed, which stood out beautifully against the rest of the décor. Regal purple and sapphire blue curtains with pale smoke and charcoal accents coordinated beautifully with the bedspread.

With thoughts of bed fresh in his mind, Draco pulled Harry flush against him and gently brushed their lips together, enough to tease, and pulled away long enough to hear Harry’s disgruntled sigh. He dove back in and sucked Harry’s lower lip into his mouth, gave it a playful nip, and Harry moaned. Draco pressed forward, deepening the kiss, and ran his hands along Harry’s back, one landing on his arse and the other tangling in his hair. He walked Harry backwards towards the bed and he eagerly climbed on, pulling Draco with him.

Draco couldn’t get enough of kissing Harry, feeling his body pressed firmly against his, and if he never stopped kissing Harry, it would be too soon. Harry, it seemed, felt a similar compulsion, and was determined to pull Draco as close as possible, as though they could eliminate all the space between them and exist as one whole being. Draco was sure he would never feel complete again without Harry. It was as though their magic had united; he could feel it pulsing through his veins. They kissed fiercely, desperately, and only paused briefly to remove items of clothing. The slide of skin against skin was electric and Draco revelled in the intensity while they continued to kiss hungrily, deeply. Harry spread his legs wider so Draco could settle between them, took Draco’s hand, and brought it down, ghosting over his cock, to rest between his legs. Draco pulled back, his heart fluttering, and looked him in the eye.

“Are you sure? Because we can wait. There’s no rush.”

Harry’s eyes had never looked greener or brighter. “I’m sure. I want this. I want you.”

Draco kissed him again, then pulled back and brought his finger to trace Harry’s lips. His tongue flicked out to lick his finger and he sucked it into his mouth while he stared into Draco’s eyes. The sensation went straight to Draco’s cock, hard and aching since they’d landed on the bed, and he gently ground himself against Harry’s thigh, delighting in the friction. Draco gave Harry a lingering kiss on the lips before he worked his way down, placing tender kisses on all of Harry’s sensitive spots: his neck at the junction where it met his shoulder, just below his collar bone, each perfect pink nipple — he may have given those each a nip, smirking as Harry gasped — his hipbones. Draco teased his entrance while he kissed each thigh and delighted as Harry shivered with the sensation. Draco cast a silent and wandless lubrication spell (given top-prioritisation, it was one of the few he could do non-verbally) and his finger breached Harry’s ring. Harry sucked in his breath.

“All right?” Draco stopped moving his finger.

“Yes,” Harry panted, “just go slow.”

Draco moved gently, slowly, in and out, until the muscles relaxed, and he could coax his finger in more easily, up to the knuckle. He used his other hand to grab the base of Harry’s cock and he flicked his tongue over Harry’s slit as he slowly moved his finger in and out. He took Harry fully into his mouth as he added a second finger and paused, waiting to see Harry’s reaction. Harry let out a moan and tightly fisted Draco’s hair, pushing down onto Draco’s fingers. Draco groaned as he tasted the salty precome and worked Harry’s length with his mouth and hand, relishing the tight velvet heat wrapped around his fingers.

“Wait,” Harry said as he came up onto his elbows, and Draco stopped.

“Are you okay? Does it feel good?” Draco asked, worried about hurting Harry. His cock was still erect, so everything seemed to be all right.

“Yes, it feels amazing,” Harry panted, “but I want more. I want you. Inside me.”

Draco, relieved, smirked. “Patience, love. It will feel so much better if you let me prepare you thoroughly first.”

Draco leaned forward and kissed Harry deeply, drinking him in, then pushed him back down on the bed and slowly added a third finger. As eager as he was to push inside, he wanted to make sure Harry was stretched and loose. He wanted this to be a night Harry would always remember. Draco returned his mouth to Harry’s hard prick and continued to lap at it while he thrust his fingers inside and scissored them. He curled them and Harry gasped.

“Oh, I’m not going to last if you keep doing that.”

Draco slid his fingers out slowly and took pleasure in the small whimper Harry made. He conjured more lube and slicked up his own cock, reddened and aching, before he lowered himself onto Harry. Draco looked into vibrant green eyes as he lined himself up, teased Harry’s entrance, then, heart racing, began to push in. Harry tensed. Draco paused.

“Too much?”

“You’re big. Bigger than your fingers.”

“Come here.” Draco pulled Harry up and arranged himself so he sat on the bed, his back resting against the headboard, and he moved Harry to straddle him. He looked into Harry’s eyes, darkened with arousal, but also radiating nervous tension.

“Go slow. Relax. Take as long as you need.” Draco lined himself up and pulled Harry into a messy kiss as the tip of his cock breached his ring. He was barely in but already it felt so insanely good. Draco massaged Harry’s thighs, willing him to relax, and Harry paused, just after the head was in, took a deep breath, and continued to slide further down. The sensation was intense — too intense — but Draco was determined to last long enough to fuck Harry properly. He squeezed the base of his cock. Mind over matter. He’d waited this long; he was not going to come early.

He stared into Harry’s eyes, alternating between thoughts that they looked like Colombian emeralds and mentally reciting the ingredients needed to make a Calming Draught, which he could most certainly use right about now.

_Pulverise the dried lavender florets with mortar and pestle._ Harry bottomed out, his arse firmly against Draco’s thighs, and Draco couldn’t help the sigh that escaped his lips. He was surrounded by Harry. Warm. Tight. Lovely. _Thinly slice the crocodile heart._ Harry sat still, lips parted and red, as he took a moment to adjust to the fullness and Draco was grateful for the break from the fabulous friction, for the moment of composure. _Carefully remove the fresh peppermint leaves from the stem._

“Okay, I’m ready,” Harry said and lifted himself up gently and back down again. Draco bit his lip. Hard. It felt so fucking good. _Add the lavender to the distilled water base in a pewter cauldron._

“You’re so beautiful,” Draco said as he guided Harry’s hips up and down. _Stir clockwise twelve times until the lavender is incorporated and the potion turns purple._

“Oh, Draco,” Harry’s voice sounded breathy, “you feel so good inside me.”

Draco’s breath came out ragged. “Yeah? It feels good now?”

Harry let out a shaky breath and nodded, his cheeks flushed a delicious pink. He gasped, Draco suspected he had just hit his prostate, and Harry tossed his head back in obvious bliss. _Add half the crocodile heart, stir counterclockwise seven times, then add the remaining heart. Lower the heat and let simmer until the potion turns green._

Harry’s cock, slick with precome, glided against Draco’s stomach. He slid his hands up Harry’s back and down his sides, wanting to touch all of him, as Harry fell into a rhythm and rode him hard, beads of sweat forming at his brow. _Add one peppermint leaf at a time, stirring clockwise in between, until the potion turns blue._

“Merlin and Morgana, Harry, you’re so tight.” Draco raised his knees slightly and braced his back against the headboard as he thrust upwards meeting Harry’s downwards movements. _Carefully decant the potion into phials and seal with wax._ Draco’s eyes rolled back into his head and he grabbed Harry’s arse as he guided his hips down onto him. He could feel the pleasure coil in his belly. Fuck. He wasn’t going to last much longer. He wrapped one hand around Harry’s cock and stroked him in time with their movements. He was not going to come without Harry.

“Harry,” he exhaled against Harry’s lips.

“Draco – ” Harry gasped and began to shake. Draco felt his arse clench and warm, wet bursts of come streaked his belly sending him flying over the edge, Harry’s name on his lips as his vision blurred. The room glowed with their union. He pulled Harry closer, flush against him, as they rocked together, slowly, and rode out the aftershocks. The whole experience was more intense than anything he’d ever done before. Draco didn’t know if he was capable of movement or even breathing. Basic human function had eluded him and all he wanted was to exist inside this moment for all eternity. It seemed Harry agreed, because they remained perfectly still, intertwined, hearts racing. Draco’s vision returned to normal, except the room seemed brighter and Harry had a soft glow about him. Perhaps it was the earth-shattering orgasm? Harry kissed his jaw, and then his mouth, and Draco slid his softening cock out. He managed a half-arsed Cleaning Spell over them both before they laid down and he pulled the covers up.

***

Harry wasn’t sure how long they slept, but it was dark outside when he awoke. He stretched, as well as he could with Draco draped over him, and he was sore in places he’d never been sore before. But he also felt content. Warm. Loved.

“Mmmm,” Draco groaned, eyes still closed, and hair sleep mussed. Harry smiled, bent forward, and kissed each eyelid. It tingled every time his lips touched Draco’s body.

“I don’t know about you,” Draco murmured, “but I’m famished.”

They dressed — Harry hated to see Draco all covered up, but he didn’t want to face either of the elves or Sirius while starkers — and made their way down to the kitchen.

Harry did his best not to blush, but Sirius had a way of looking at him that suggested he saw everything Harry tried to hide. Despite their best efforts, Harry was sure they both looked thoroughly shagged.

“Well, I was wrong,” Sirius said.

“About what?”

“You do need to cast a Silencing Charm. I forgot how the sounds tend to carry in this old house.”

Harry was grateful he couldn’t see how crimson he’d become. Draco, clearly unruffled, simply smirked.

Bilby materialised silently, startling Harry, and Kreacher appeared beside her with a _pop_. Harry noted he looked no worse for the wear. In fact, Bilby had forced him to change out of his grubby old pillowcase and into something new and smart-looking, something that looked suspiciously like it had been fashioned from the old drapes from the master bedroom. A definite improvement, in Harry’s opinion.

“If Masters are wanting food, there is a meal waiting in the dining room,” Bilby announced without looking directly at Harry or Draco. Perhaps they had been loud? The elves Disapparated.

“Bilby was in here earlier cursing and hexing Kreacher for his poor maintenance of the kitchen. I do wish I could move from portrait to portrait throughout the house, they are the best entertainment I’ve had in years,” Sirius said with a resigned sigh. The portrait inhabitants at Hogwarts tended to move freely, and Harry wondered if he could somehow arrange the same for his godfather.

They both wished Sirius goodnight and headed upstairs.

Harry had always found the dining room to be oppressive. The large room was still mostly cast in shadows and cobwebs, but there was one corner of light. In it, a small table had been set with a royal blue tablecloth, white china plates bearing the Black family crest, ivory napkins with engraved silver napkin rings, and an arrangement of white roses in the centre. On the table was a carefully placed late-evening picnic: platters filled with fancy French cheeses — _Bleu d’Auvergne, Reblochon, Brie de Meaux,_ Draco informed him — baguettes, smoked salmon, dried fruit, grapes and a selection of nuts. The chilled bottle of champagne surprised Harry, given Bilby’s distaste for alcohol. But, it was their first night at home so perhaps even Bilby saw the need for celebration. Harry smiled. It reminded him of their first picnic back in the ravine, except this time they were at a proper table instead of a transfigured log. They sat down, and Harry felt as though they were the only two people in the world.

“Father would have been furious,” Draco said as he carefully placed the napkin in his lap. “The first night in a new home should be celebrated with a proper ten-course meal.”

“But Bilby and Kreacher have been so busy restoring the house.”

Draco smirked. “You’ve met my father. Do you think he’d care about any of that? He’d expect it all to be done yesterday.”

Harry followed suit and placed his napkin in his lap. He looked around the table. “This is really kind of perfect though.”

Draco’s eyes sparkled. “It really is.”

Draco poured the champagne and they toasted to _new beginnings_. They took turns feeding each other, and Harry had to admit everything tasted better when Draco arranged his bites; he never would have tried any of the mouldy cheeses otherwise. They worked their way through the assortment of foods and another glass of champagne. To Harry’s delight, there were chocolate-covered strawberries and treacle tart for dessert. Draco fed Harry a strawberry and leaned in to lick the chocolate off his lips. When Draco’s fingers became sticky with treacle, Harry licked them clean, slowly, one by one. It took all the self-restraint they could muster to finish eating before Draco Apparated them back upstairs. Harry barely remembered to cast the Silencing Charm.

They repeated their earlier activities, except this time with Harry on all fours, back arched, as Draco gripped his hips firmly and plunged into him from behind. Harry was sore from earlier, but he couldn’t care less, the stretch and the burn replaced by pleasure and a delicious fullness, every movement, every touch so sensitive. Draco kept hitting _that spot_ with each thrust, and when he snaked his hand around to stroke Harry’s cock in time with his thrusts, Harry came so hard that all his sensations exploded and contracted at once with a mix of colour and sound. Was it supposed to feel this way? Electric. Magnetic. So intense he could barely breathe and never wanted to be apart from Draco ever again. They were two magnets, opposites, that had come furiously together.

As Harry’s senses began to return, he noticed Draco’s rhythm falter, his thrusts became more erratic. He swore, pushed forwards once more, then stilled as he pulsed inside Harry. Draco gasped two ragged breaths, then placed open-mouthed kisses along Harry’s spine before they collapsed in a tangle of limbs and flushed skin. Draco whispered, _Nox_ , and they were left in darkness save for the soft glow of moonlight that spilled through a gap in the curtains.

***

The full moon was high in the sky when Narcissa finally found herself alone and she savoured the moment. The Manor had seen a flurry of activity the past two days. Emergency meetings. Punishments doled out; neither Lucius nor Bellatrix were spared. Draco’s replacement was adept at curses and eager to please.

In the sanctuary of her bathroom, overlooking the gardens, Narcissa conjured the orb and ether. She unclasped her amulet, let it slide through her fingers. _Secare._ She let three drops fall before she healed the wound and exhaled. _Aspecto_. She willed her mind and eyes to relax.

The image was black. Nothingness. A swirling void.

At any other time, this would have brought about great panic. But relief surged forth instead. Dumbledore had been successful then. The boys were now at the old Black House. She couldn’t remember where it was, its location a blank, but she remembered of its existence. She understood it had been placed under a Fidelius Charm. They would be safe. But it also meant she wouldn’t be able to see Draco anymore. The knowledge was bittersweet. While she delighted in seeing her precious son’s face from time to time, when she needed a little light in her life, it was more important that he and Harry were safe.

Narcissa returned the amulet to her neck and Vanished the orb.

She still didn’t trust Dumbledore. Not completely. The man had his hands in far too many pies and was always cryptic with his information. A riddle for a riddle. She was certain he had an ulterior motive. But he was better than the alternative that lurked in the ballroom.

She’d made him swear an Unbreakable Vow, to keep the boys safe, in exchange for all the information she had about the Dark Lord. Not a perfect plan, but it was the best she had. The best chance she could give Draco for a future, unmarred by the mistakes of his family.

Narcissa relaxed in her chambers. Pipsy had brought her tea and hot, buttered toast — her first real meal in weeks. She found she could eat again. For now, she had won the battle. But she was very much aware that this was a war, and it was far from over.

Changes were necessary. She wasn’t sure if Lucius could even see it anymore — he was too far gone — but the Manor, slowly but surely, was slipping into a state of disrepair, burdened under the crushing weight of the Dark Lord’s magic, and she would be damned if she went down with it. She couldn’t oppose him directly, not if she didn’t want to end up in the dungeons, but she could offset the darkness with light. Nothing obvious or ostentatious, but perhaps if it happened consistently and at the periphery, little by little, it might make a difference. House-Elf magic, worked in unnoticeable ways, could offset the damage and reinforce the foundation. Perhaps it might rub off on Lucius in the form of sanity. Yes, changes were required, and, in the days that followed, if the phial containing the sample of Harry’s magic happened to go missing under mysterious circumstances, well, then wouldn’t that be a pity?

***

Morning came with the delicious smell of breakfast in the air. They showered, together, perhaps taking longer than individual showers would have done, but Harry couldn’t keep away and Draco seemed eager to follow. They took breakfast in the kitchen with Sirius, who seemed pleased with the quiet evening but winked at Harry when Draco wasn’t looking. Harry felt his cheeks redden. Perhaps they should have eaten in the dining room instead? Aside from Sirius’ teasing, breakfast was delicious — Eggs Florentine with sausage, toast, fresh-squeezed orange juice and tea.

Despite the near-constant desire that thrummed through his body, Harry was sobered by the idea of Snape’s visit. He could imagine the curl of Snape’s lip, the string of insults that would come if he weren’t prepared. The trouble was he had no idea what he wanted to do for this ridiculous independent study. Harry had accepted that agreeing to Dumbledore’s terms meant accepting his destiny to defeat — or be defeated by — the Dark Lord, and he felt as though he ought to do something that might help with that. But the idea also seemed very bleak, and, of course, that thought just made him feel more guilty.

“You’ve done enough,” Draco reassured him. “You should do something you want to do.”

That was the trouble. Harry wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. He’d enjoyed his exercise routine while they were on the run, but he could imagine Snape’s sneer when he said he wanted to get extra credit for Physical Education.

“You’ve already said you want a new portrait for Sirius, one more age-appropriate, so you can siphon his magic into something that better reflects him as you knew him” — _You don’t have to go with my exact age, late twenties would be fine, fewer wrinkles_ , Sirius interjected — “and you may as well get credit for it.”

“You think Snape would allow me to do that?” It sounded too good to be true.

“Portrait Magic is a very valid field of study,” Draco drawled. “Besides, I get a feeling we’ll spend more than enough time on defensive magic and counterspells. You may as well do something you enjoy.” 

After breakfast, they went up to the library to get a head start on their independent study selections. Naturally, Draco planned to complete his in the field of potions, but he hadn’t narrowed it down to which area he wanted to research.

“Ley lines?” Harry asked as he read the title over Draco’s shoulder. “What does that have to do with Potions?”

“It doesn’t, I was simply curious. The Manor was built along a major ley line and I assumed this place must be as well. Most ancient wizarding homes are, to make use of the raw power.”

They’d managed to find books on their respective projects and had made a good start when Draco closed his book with a loud _snap_. Harry looked up and Draco was on him, walking him backwards until he was pressed up against a bookcase. Draco kissed him just below his ear while he pinned him in place, Harry heard a keening noise and realised that it had come from him. It was probably a good thing they were staying at Grimmauld Place, otherwise they might have dragged one another off to the Room of Requirement and not emerged until their exams at the end of the year. Perhaps not even then. It was as though a button had been pushed, and now they couldn’t turn it off. Harry whimpered as Draco sucked a bruise into his neck while he pulled the shirt out of Harry’s trousers and got to work on his belt.

“Fuck,” Harry said when Draco dropped to his knees and mouthed at his cock through his pants. He wanted more, needed more. Harry was sore from last night but still so very turned on. Draco yanked Harry’s pants down and he could feel the corners of books as they dug into his arse cheeks.

Draco’s mouth should be illegal, his lips and tongue wicked, sinful, and talented. Barely managing a single coherent thought, Harry grabbed Draco’s wand from his pocket and cast a Silencing Charm at the door. He didn’t want to give Sirius any more ammunition. Harry groaned and lost himself to the pleasure. He didn’t think it possible, but somehow the sensations were even more intense than last night, and he never wanted it to stop. It was as though all the magic in his body was singing, mingling with Draco’s magic, while his blood pulsed powerfully through his veins.

Harry felt desired, wanted. Something he’d secretly longed for his whole life. He may have finally found a home, in the last place he expected and with the very last person he expected. But it felt right. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. Harry shuddered as his orgasm ripped through him and he tossed his head back in bliss. He fisted Draco’s hair as he continued to suck him dry. Fuck. So good. Everything was so good.

As the rush of blood flowed away from his ears, and his vision restored, Harry became aware that they were not alone. With the Silencing Charm in place, they hadn’t heard the Floo.

Standing in the doorway, a blush rising on her tanned cheeks, was Hermione. They stared at one another for what was probably only seconds but felt like it could have been aeons.

“Perhaps I should come back at a better time?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, what did you think?
> 
> I’m just getting started with Part 3, which I’m super excited about, and I can give you a few tidbits:
> 
> ~We will begin _exactly_ where we left off. 
> 
> ~If you think there’s something more going on with that Unbreakable Vow, you’re right. We will definitely unpack that. 
> 
> ~We will spend time at Grimmauld Place with the boys, Snape and a few others, we’ll drop in at Hogwarts via Hermione, and I’m sure we will also have a few glimpses of the goings-on at Malfoy Manor.
> 
> ~There will be a love triangle (or two) but don’t worry, not with Harry or Draco. They seem to be communicating better 😉
> 
> I suspect it will be a bit longer than this one so I’m going to give a rough estimate of summer-ish 2021.
> 
> ❤️ If you haven’t already, please subscribe to the [Old Magic](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1831858) series and you’ll get an email when I start posting Part 3 ❤️ 
> 
> I’m on [Tumblr](https://mystickitten42.tumblr.com/) and Discord.

**Author's Note:**

> ❤️ Thanks for reading. Comments and Kudos are treasured ❤️


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